Harry Potter and the Doomspell Potion
by Pogonia And Medusa
Summary: A sequel to Prisoner of Azkaban first written before publication of Goblet of Fire, new to FFN. Was a young witch's death a suicide, or murder by Voldemort? Why does Snape despise the new DADA teacher? And why does his new potion for Dumbledore make Harry's scar tingle? All canon as we knew it in 1999-2000.
1. Summer at the Dursleys

**Authors' Notes for Harry Potter and the Doomspell Potion**

 **Disclaimer**

Characters and settings that you recognize from the Harry Potter books are property of J. K. Rowling. No rights to them are claimed or implied. Thank you J. K. for letting us play in your magical world.

 **History of Doomspell Potion**

Harry Potter and the Doomspell Potion was conceived in 1999, after Prisoner of Azkaban appeared and the wait for Book IV seemed interminable. Extrapolating from the first three books, we began writing in December 1999. The original chapter 9 (Spring) was under internal review, and chapters 10 and 11 (Return, and Partings) were completely plotted, when Goblet of Fire came out. Any similarities to events in Goblet of Fire predate the real Book IV's release on July 8, 2000.

 **Authors' identitities (written late July 2000, more in author profile)**

Pogonia, aged forty-something, is an engineer practicing in the northeast US. She claims responsibility for the millimoles to parts per million conversions and other unpleasant details of the Potions labs, and for the choice of murder victims. This is her first fanfic.

Medusa is an aspiring university student in London, who grew up at a school much like Hogwarts (except it was a Muggle school...or so she has led Pogonia to believe). If you happened to laugh at anything in Doomspell Potion, it's probably something she wrote.

* * *

 **Chapter 1: Summer at the Dursleys'**

"Brrrrrring!"

With a practiced swing, Harry Potter launched himself back and slapped the top of the alarm clock, bringing the noise to an abrupt stop. The clock read 5:45, and a pinkish dawn was breaking. Another alarm sounded faintly down the hall, followed by a low groan. Harry pulled on his socks and sprinted down the stairs to begin breakfast. As he poured the orange juice, the bathroom door slammed and the stairs began to creak. Harry was ready.

"Mmph." Vernon Dursley grunted, settling heavily into his chair. Harry set down a dish of sausages and slid three eggs onto a warmed plate.

"Bloody runny again," grumbled his uncle. "Toast?"

"Right here." Harry deposited toast, butter and marmalade on the table and was refilling his uncle's coffee mug when his aunt Petunia entered the kitchen. Her thin lips pursed and she rolled her eyes upwards.

"Your hair's a disgrace," she declared. "Who's going to hire a boy that looks like a sheepdog?" Not really expecting a reply, she went on. "What's your schedule today?" Harry poured milk, then tea into a cup and handed it to her.

"Lawn mowing for the Entwhistles and the Pratts in the morning. Tutoring Tarquin Polkiss in maths at noon. Scraping paint on the Mouldens' garage. And Mrs. Figg's cats and garden again." Much as he disliked her cats, Harry felt grateful to Mrs. Figg for the summer job, which Dudley had botched so badly that it had passed to him, along with as many other odd jobs as Petunia could find for him around the neighborhood. Since Vernon's leveraged buyout of Grunning's drill factory that spring, business had been slow, and he had taken to putting in long hours at work. His secretary had been sacked to save money, and Petunia had taken over her job. Every night the two of them returned exhausted and swallowed their dinner in silence, too tired to berate Harry or to pay attention to Dudley's chatter about hip throws and choke holds.

Petunia fixed Harry with her usual hard stare. "Mind you're polite, boy, it'll bring in a better tip. We'll be home at quarter past six: have dinner on the table, along with your wages. It's your birthday, so make a cake for dessert. Chocolate with white icing. You can do the washing tonight." She drained her cup and held it out for a refill.

Vernon cleared his throat. "Mind our garden too, it's a right tip."

"Absolutely. It sets an example. Do it before you start at the Entwhistles'. Did you ask Mrs. Pickles about ironing?

"No. Meaning, she said no. But she'll pay me to pick up their washing from Grady's Supawash this afternoon."

Petunia sniffed. "Grady's? No wonder they always look rumpled. Very well, put it on your list. And don't disturb Dudley. He's training."

Harry had nearly finished weeding the front garden when Dudley emerged, his vast bulk squeezed into an orange and maroon sweatsuit. He yawned, swung his shoulders back and forth half a dozen times, then strained to touch his toes and settled for reaching his ankles. Bright red under his pale blond hair, he shuffled through the gate for his morning run. Harry let out his breath in relief. Since the start of Dudley's wrestling craze he had never felt quite safe. Every day Dudley arose late, pounded his way slowly around the block, then retired to his room to lift weights and watch professional wrestling videos. Evenings he would work out with his friends, a sullen boy from Stonewall and jolly, cruel Piers Polkiss, until they had dropped enough dumbbells on his bedroom floor to infuriate Uncle Vernon; then it was time to practice joint locks on Harry. If Dudley wasn't getting any smarter, Harry mused ruefully, he was most certainly getting stronger.

Harry finished his weeding and sprinted off to Mrs. Figg's. The arrangement wasn't perfect, but it was working out tolerably well for everyone. Harry had a measure of liberty, as did Hedwig, who stayed in the rafters of Mrs. Figg's back porch. He had neighbors to talk with, and the pleasure of corresponding with Ron and Hermione by owl post. Unfortunately, Harry's earnings had given the Dursleys yet another motive for keeping him home from Hogwarts in the fall. He remembered his uncle's words of the night before. "It's high time you earned your keep," Vernon had remarked when Harry handed over his wages. "Tips too! And if you try holding out on me, you'll regret it!"

Harry had dropped the last five-pence piece into his uncle's hand, hoping that he had managed to look angry enough. He thought again with satisfaction of the golden pound coin enroute to Ron for safekeeping. The neighbors never tipped him much, and he had to give most of it up, but bit by bit he was accumulating enough Muggle money for an escape back to Hogwarts in the fall. I wonder what they'll try this year, he thought, remembering the Dursleys' past stratagems. No matter what it takes, he resolved, I'll get away. And I hope I never come back.

Loping up the driveway, Harry was surprised to see Hedwig perched on the verandah railing, waiting for him. "Back already?" he asked. He unwound the tiny scroll from her leg. It was a birthday note from Ron, but had a postscript at the bottom in a different hand.

 _P.S. Ickle Harrykins –_

 _We've heard about your little difficulty and have just the plan for you. Book the Knight Bus and a room at the Leaky Cauldron for the night of August 31. We'll take care of the rest. Those pathetic Muggles that call themselves your family will be having the time of their so-called lives and will never miss you. Trust us. We mean it this time, really._

 _Fred (and George)_

 _P.P.S. For the record, this won't require magic, just Mum's Muggle cousin who happened to owe the two of us a large favor. So keep your hair combed, old man, and we'll see you in Diagon Alley the morning of September 1._

 _Remember, just trust us!_

 _George (and Fred)_

Several days later, the Dursleys arrived home to find a fat, official-looking envelope in their post. "Dudley," called Petunia shrilly, "there's a letter for you, sweet boy!" A crash of barbells on the second floor and the pounding of heavy feet on the stairs told Harry that Dudley was about to take the bait.

"Don't call me that, Mum", whined Dudley, reaching for the letter. Harry peeked out of the kitchen in time to see Vernon snatch it out of his hand. He scanned the envelope. "World Wrestling Federation? What in blazes is this?"

"Give it here, Dad, give it here!" Trembling with anticipation, Dudley ripped open the envelope and unfolded the letter. Four small white cards and a large one fell out. "Yippee!" Harry leaned against the door and bit his tongue to keep from laughing as Dudley picked up the cards – finally reaching to the floor for the first time all summer. "They're tickets! To a professional wrestling match! Please, Mum, Dad, can we go?"

"Wrestling!" Petunia exclaimed, her voice quivering with disdain. "A Dursley at a wrestling match! Unthinkable!"

Vernon examined the tickets, then whistled in amazement. "Fifty quid each! What's the letter say?"

Dudley read, excitedly, stumbling at the end.

 _Dear Mr. Dursley,_

 _Please accept these tickets and dinner for four as a gesture of thanks for your fan letters and your support of Professional Wrestling in Great Britain._

 _Yours very truly,_

 _Bogdan the Magnificent_

 _(Zdzislaw M. Kurtyka)_

"Oh, Dudley!" Petunia exclaimed in horror. "Professional wrestling? But it's so very... _common_! And you wrote to those _freaks_? Did you really communicate with the sort of person who makes a living of fisticuffs?"

"But Mum, he's the greatest! Totally awesome!" Petunia glared at him. "Topping, I mean. I wanna go! I wanna go! Oh, please, oh please…" Vernon and Petunia exchanged silent glances.

"I wouldn't be seen dead at that sort of vulgar exhibition," sneered Petunia, disgust dripping from her voice. "And where is the so-called dinner? At some dreadful little chip shop? Or a McDonald's?"

Vernon turned over the card. "Hmm… The card says the Blenkinsop Inn, Petunia. Have you ever heard of it?"

Petunia's eyes opened wide. "Oh my, yes! It was written up in "Gourmet Dining" just last month. Are there reservations?"

"It looks real enough," said Vernon tentatively, "but I'd better call in the morning to be certain of it." He glared suspiciously at Harry. "We don't want any surprises, do we?"

"Well if it is real, could we go?" asked Petunia plaintively. "We haven't been anywhere all summer, not even for Duddykins' birthday. And I'm sick of Harry's cooking. Please, darling?"

Harry crossed his fingers inside the oven mitt and wished as hard as he could.

"Well… " Vernon paused. "All right," he conceded, "but only if I can confirm all the particulars."

"All right? All right? ALLLLL RIGHT!" screamed Dudley. "I want Piers to come along. Can he, Dad? Can he? I'll call him right now. I've got to tell him the news!"

It was only the next day that the Dursleys realized that the wrestling match was to take place on the last day of August. As Vernon and Petunia's argument built into a crescendo, Harry escaped to Mrs. Figg's. He fed her cats, watered her garden, and swept her verandah. By the time he returned to the Dursleys, sounds of construction had replaced the sounds of conflict. Vernon held a cluster of long nails in his mouth, inserting them one by one into the edge of the door under the stairs, nailing it to the frame. "Got the best of you this time, boy," chuckled Vernon around the nails. "All that disgusting gubbins of yours is here in this cupboard, and here it will stay!"

Friday, August 31 dawned crisp and bright. When Harry reached the kitchen Dudley was already there, standing at the open refrigerator drinking milk from the carton. "I can't wait!" exclaimed Dudley. "What will I do until Piers gets here?" Harry looked at the clock. Eleven hours to go. As he passed the table Dudley grabbed his arm and jerked him over. "Look! I downloaded the program for tonight's matches." Harry straightened his glasses and feigned interest in the printout. "This is so exciting! It's almost too good to be true!"

Hearing those words, Harry's heart flip-flopped. Dudley must have sensed something in his manner. He exploded from his seat and pushed Harry backwards across the room, slamming his shoulders against the pantry door. He twisted the front of Harry's shirt and dug his knuckles into Harry's collarbone. "Loser," he growled. "If you're winding me up, I'll give you a leathering you'll never forget. " Trembling, Harry nodded. Dudley moved back, and pondered for a moment. The ends of his mouth curled up into a sly grin. "What do you like to eat for breakfast, punk?"

Harry searched his face, struggling to understand the question. "Breakfast?" he repeated, as Dudley's knuckles dug in deeper. He felt himself flushing with anger. Dudley grinned broadly and shoved him again. "Cross me, punk, and you're - gonna - eat - my - "

"Duddykins!" Petunia's shrill voice sang out cheerily. "It's your big day, sweet boy!" She thudded into the kitchen and took in the situation instantly. "Harry!" she barked. "What's got into you? There's work to be done, and there you are picking a fight!"

Harry grabbed a piece of toast and scooted toward the back door. He dodged Dudley, but not in time to avoid a shove. "Punk!"

A horrified expression spread over Petunia's face.

"Dudley! Wherever did you learn that nasty American slang? Why can't you use a nice English word instead?"

* * *

By the time he had finished digging the hole for Petunia's new flowering cherry tree, an hour was gone from his sentence. By the time he finished planting the Fogartys' daffodil bulbs and mowing their lawn, there were only three hours to go. He was unloading the clothes dryer in the garage when he heard Piers Polkiss's racing bike squealing into the driveway. Almost there. Harry dropped the last sock into the laundry basket and trotted back towards the house. What he saw at the back door made his stomach lurch. Vernon and Petunia were waiting for him. Behind them Dudley and Piers stood expectantly, their hands full.

"Give me the basket, Harry." Petunia reached out for the laundry. Harry handed it to her and turned to Vernon. "What's going on?" he demanded.

His uncle pulled out a long thin key. "You're spending tonight in the garage," he said with malicious cheer. "Can't take any chances on another escape attempt, can we?" Dudley nudged Piers and waggled a hammer in the air. Piers waved back with a two-by-four and a handful of nails.

"Right-o, Harry", sneered Dudley. "Off you go to the garage with the other rubbish! Have a lovely evening." He nudged Piers in the ribs and snickered.

"Wait!" said Harry, "you can't." His mind worked furiously. "I'm babysitting for the Fogartys tonight. Seven to midnight. They're paying me double since they asked only this noon... " His voice trailed off.

Vernon and Petunia exchanged glances. "Double? That's thirty pound for the evening! They must be made of money," exclaimed Petunia. She moved her tongue surreptitiously over her lip. "I'd better ring them up."

Dudley hopped back and forth, his belly jiggling. "Never mind, Mum. We'll be late. Please, let's get in the car!"

"Be still!" ordered Vernon, and the boys fell silent. Behind his father's back Dudley continued his nailing game, and Piers beat on an imaginary door and pretended to weep. After a long minute Petunia returned. "No answer," she said with a grimace.

"Please, Dad, Mum, please?" urged Dudley. Tears came into his eyes, and Harry wondered whether Dudley could still cry at will. Piers looked at him and guffawed.

"C'mon, Duds, we'll wait in the car. They won't back out just because of that little rat."

Dropping the tools onto the verandah, the boys pelted across the lawn. Petunia followed. Vernon glanced after her, then dropped the key into his pocket. "Any funny business…" he began sternly.

"I know," Harry cut in. "Dudley told me this morning."

"All right, then. Back to work. And get those tools out of here." Pressing his lips together, Vernon stomped after his wife. Harry did not move until he saw the car pull out of the driveway. He waited another minute, then two, hardly believing they were gone. For the first time in his life, he had the house to himself. For the first time, no one would stop him from leaving. He walked over to Mrs. Figg's to check on the cats and fetch Hedwig, then slowly wrote a note to his aunt and uncle and put it on the front table. Now there was nothing to do but wait.


	2. The Passenger

**Chapter 2: The Passenger**

Afternoon crawled into evening. Despite having the television and kitchen all to himself, Harry was too nervous to watch or to eat. Each time a car passed the house, he jumped - hoping for the Knight Bus and dreading the possibility that the Dursleys might have decided to return. Twice, then a third time, he checked the empty space under the floorboards of his bedroom, and looked in on Hedwig, drowsing on the porch railing. The sun set, twilight fell, and still there was no sign of the bus. Harry paced back and forth in the front room, unable to keep his eyes off the clock. Finally it struck ten. The match had been over for an hour and the Dursleys were surely on their way home. Harry plopped into a chair, in despair of ever seeing Hogwarts again.

At last he saw the flash of headlights and heard the sound of a vehicle pulling into the driveway. He bounded to the window. An unfamiliar car backed out again and drove off the way it had come. Harry dropped the curtain and shook his head. Suddenly, headlights stabbed into his eyes again. There in the driveway stood an enormous purple bus. The front door opened wide and a familiar voice bawled out, "Welcome to the Knight Bus, emergency…"

Harry wrenched open the front door. "Stan! Over here!" The gawky conductor jumped out of the bus and looked about.

"'Ere, 'oo said that?" he called suspiciously. He caught sight of Harry in the doorway and bounded over. "Blimey, it's you again! Neville, I mean 'Arry Potter, ain'tcha?"

"Right," said Harry. He pumped Stan's hand. "You've no idea how glad I am to see you."

"'Oo, me?" said Stan, surprised. "Right. Well. Glad to see you too, Neville."

"Can you give me a hand with my trunk? My Muggle relatives locked it up in here, and they're coming back any minute." He gestured to the nailed-up closet. Stan shook his head. "Can't do nuffink about that. Left me wand in me other coat, y'see. Woss the matter wiv yours?"

"It's locked in there." Harry pointed. "What about Ernie's? Can we use his?"

"Dincha know 'e retired?" Stan asked, scratching his neck. "Marnie's driving tonight. You could ask 'er, I reckon."

Another car passed the house. Harry's heart rose in his throat as he fought the temptation to check the clock again. He raced outside and peered into the bus. The largest woman he had ever seen looked back at him with calm dignity. Her ample sides spilled over the armchair that was the driver's seat. Behind her stretched the room he remembered from his last ride, with bedsteads lined up along the walls, and candles flickering in wall brackets between the curtained windows. The driver leaned forward and smiled at him serenely. "Now there, lad. How can I help you?"

Stan came up behind him. "Marn, this 'ere's 'Arry Potter and 'e wants t'borrow your wand for a mo'."

"In the compartment, lad." She raised a massive arm and pointed to an ornate wooden cabinet with claw feet and beveled glass doors. Harry spotted the wand resting on a crocheted doily. Shoving it into Stan's hands, he pushed him back into the house.

"'Choo want me to do wiv this?" demanded Stan. "Doncha know 'ow to work one yet?"

"Please, Stan," urged Harry, trying to keep the impatience out of his voice. "I'm underage; I'm not allowed. Can you open this cupboard for me?"

Stan pointed the wand at the door below the stairs. "' _Ello'omora_!" he intoned. The door rattled crazily on its hinges. Dust sprang from the keyhole and skittered across the floor. Agonized squeaks rang from every nail.

"Belay that!" yelled Stan, ducking behind a couch. The noise stopped instantly. He grinned at Harry's surprised expression. "Dint know that 'un, didja? Quicker'n that 'Fini-tay' business, ain't it, 'Arry?"

Harry nodded. "Thanks. I didn't want to tear the house apart. Let's try another one."

Stan looked puzzled. "You call it, then, I don't know another."

Harry thought for a moment. "Just say 'apertum crescendum' and bob the tip up and down a bit."

"Apertum woss?"

"Crescendum," repeated Harry. "Now, move it up and down like you're prying something open."

Stan did as he was told, and the crack at the bottom of the door began to yawn open like an enormous mouth. Stan's jaw dropped. "Coo!" he exclaimed. "Jus' like a ruddy screwdriver!"

"Hold it there," advised Harry, scrambling through the opening. He emerged a moment later dragging his trunk, with Hedwig's cage and his schoolbag looped over his broomstick. "Belay that!" grinned Stan, and the door snapped down again with a sharp crack. Together they wrestled the trunk onto the bus, followed by Hedwig who settled on a bedpost.

"Where to, lad?" asked Marnie calmly.

"London, please, the Leaky Cauldron."

"On our way, then, lad." Remembering Ernie Prang's driving, Harry braced himself, but the bus moved off gently and circled once about the house before heading back up Privet Drive. Looking out the window, Harry saw the Dursleys' car weaving toward them. Aunt Petunia looked up, and as their eyes met, he could almost hear her scream.

" 'Ere you go, 'Arry," said Stan, waving to one of the beds lined up against the walls. He nudged the trunk into place with his knee and swung into the armchair next to Marnie. " 'Ave a good ride."

Harry glanced around the room. On the next bed, a young woman sat crosslegged. She was wearing earphones and tapping her fingers in time to music. Blue and silver streaks were dyed into her long black hair and around her neck hung a strange necklace of wooden, leather and crystal charms on a silken braid. Stacked at the foot of the bed were several trunks labeled H. M. Takushiki. She looked over at Harry and slid her earphones down. "Hello," she said cheerily. "That's a lovely broomstick you have there."

Harry grinned. "It's a Firebolt. Have a look if you like." She took it from him, sighted along the polished handle and ran her hand over the twigs. Dust swirled into the air.

"You haven't used it in a while," she observed.

"Right," said Harry ruefully. "I've been working for my Muggle aunt and uncle this summer and they won't let me ride it at their house." It felt wonderful to talk to someone about broomsticks again. "I can't wait to get back to Hogwarts and back into the air."

"Hogwarts?" She looked at him with interest. "That's where I'm going too. I wish I could have gotten there earlier, but I just finished up my job this morning." She yawned. "It's been a looong trip from East Timor."

"Is that where you're from?" asked Harry. "You don't have an accent."

"No, just working there." She levitated the Firebolt over one finger, tossing it up several inches and watching it glide as it settled back. Finally she plucked it out of the air and handed it back to Harry. "Do you, ah, ever let other people ride this?" There was a note of envy in her voice.

"Sure. Ask me any time. " Harry grinned again. She reminded him of someone, but he couldn't quite think whom. "Would you mind if I asked you a question?" he continued, feeling awkward. "What kind of work did you do? I grew up with Muggles, you see, and I don't know much about wizarding jobs."

"Well, you know about the civil war in East Timor," she began. Harry nodded uncertainly, watching her face turn serious. "War zones tend to attract all kinds of evil, including evil magic. I worked with local wizards and witches to cast out Dark enchantments that had come in with the war. We also tried to bring back any magical folk who had been lured over to the Dark Way."

"Do they ever really come back?" he asked. "I mean, can you ever trust them again?" He thought of Peter Pettigrew, who had been his father's friend and Secret-Keeper.

"Sometimes they do," she said thoughtfully, and frowned. "But it can be hard on them, very hard. Anyway," she continued, "two came back in Dili, and we found and broke a few hundred curses and calmed down masses of ghosts and, guess what, we even discovered an oni that had been lost since the 1940s."

Harry searched his brain. What had Prof. Lupin said about oni? "What did you do with it?" he asked.

"Sent it back to an oni reserve in Japan, of course. No one really wanted to kill it."

"What happens now?" Harry asked.

"With the big problems out of the way, the local wizards can go back to doing their thing, you know, gathering potion herbs, taking in apprentices and so on."

Harry was curious. "How did you get started? Did you have to learn to speak, ah, Indonesian?"

She pointed upward. On a burnt-out candle stub perched a large parrot. "Petcock's my translator for everything except sign language and Japanese." The bird opened one eye.

"Hullo, Petcock," said Harry.

"Young man, kindly refrain from disturbing me," squawked the bird, blinking at him. "I am presently engaged in meditation." It shut its eye again.

"Oh, rubbish," said the young woman, "When he's not meditating, there's no shutting him up. By the way, I'm Hecate."

"I'm Harry," said Harry, feeling slightly uneasy about not adding his surname. He glanced out the window into the darkness. The bus seemed to be floating along about forty feet above a highway. The sky-glow off to his right told him that they were nearing London. All of a sudden they were over suburban houses, and just after that he looked down upon a city centre park. The bus had not even twitched.

"We 'ere already?" Stan asked the driver. Marnie nodded.

"Just touching down now, lad." She set the brake unhurriedly and leaned back in her chair as Stan hopped up.

"'Ere we go, everybody out!"

Harry stepped down from the bus onto the pavement in front of the Leaky Cauldron. The street was deserted, but lights burned brightly inside the tiny pub. Harry rummaged in his trunk and counted out eleven Sickles into Stan's hand. With a wave, Hecate slipped past him, her trunks wobbling along behind her like ducklings. On the last one perched Petcock, his eyes still closed. When Harry hoisted his own trunk, he found that she had charmed it, for it was as light as a feather. Quickly he hurried through the door into the world he had missed for so long.

"Well, if it ain't 'Arry again!" Tom, the elderly barman, grinned at Harry, exposing a double expanse of pink gums. "You're lucky to 'ave reservations tonight – we're right busy this week and an old building like this 'un can only stretch so far." He looked around for the clerk. "Nigel'll take yer stuff up t'yer old room."

Harry felt a tap on the shoulder. It was Hecate. "Come on", she urged, "let's get a bite to eat. I'll bet you haven't had a butterbeer all summer." The prospect sounded so good that Harry accepted instantly. Ever nosy, the barman sidled up and asked Harry loudly who his friend was.

"Tom, this is Hecate," said Harry. "We're both going up to Hogwarts tomorrow."

" Pleased to meetcher," said Tom, wiping his hand before offering it for a handshake. "And what'll ye be doin' up there, miss?"

"Some advanced subjects in Muggle Studies and Defense against the Dark Arts," she replied, "and also teaching the Defense classes."

Harry blushed. "Then I should be calling you Professor Takushiki," he stammered. "Sorry about that."

Hecate chuckled. "If you do, I'll have to call you Mr. Potter. But why stand on ceremony?" It was indeed hard to stand on ceremony with someone so friendly and considerate. Soon they were chatting away about Quidditch.

Harry was awakened the next morning by the touch of soft feathers on his face. Ron's tiny owl stood on his pillow, clutching a note in his claws _._

 _Meet us at the bookshop at nine – Ron_

Harry dressed quickly and hurried to finish his banking and to arrange for delivery of his trunk to the station. The clock was just striking nine as he caught up with the Weasleys in front of Flourish and Blotts. Soon he had been hugged in turn by Molly Weasley, a furiously blushing Ginny, Hermione, and last Ron. Arthur pumped his hand enthusiastically, and Fred and George slapped him on the back.

"How did it go, Harry?" The twins were eager to hear about his escape. Harry started to explain, then caught a penetrating glance from Molly Weasley.

"Er, later," he promised.

The bookshop was only beginning to be busy, and before long everyone had picked up their books and equipment. "Fascinating," murmured Hermione. "What wonderful books for this year." Harry ran his finger down the list.

Analysis of Enchantments, Alberic Grunnion

Prefects who Gained Power, Reynardo Fox

Prefects who Kept Power, Astucia Fox

Means, Ends, and Loyalties, Ignatius Abbott.

Gewaltig Grindelwald: A Biography, Olimprius Dienstmann.

Complete Works of William Shakespeare

Theory and Practice of Potions, Vol. 2, Theophrastus Bombastus von Hohenheim

Worry clouded Molly Weasley's face. "So many books, again?"

"Don't worry, Mum," Ron assured her. "We have most of these at home, and Percy has the two on prefects. I'll send a school owl to fetch them."

"But why is Shakespeare a set book?" she continued. "Wonderful plays, surely, but we used to do them in Muggle Studies. I can't imagine it for Defense against the Dark Arts. And Grindelwald?" She shuddered. "Dienstmann was his second in command. He wrote that book during his trial, before they sent him to Azkaban. A terrible man. I should like a word with Prof. Lupin, or whoever they've found to fill his post."

"Wasn't Dienstmann the one who used to breed…" began Hermione.

"Hush!" said Mrs. Weasley. "The less said about that, the better. Thank goodness for Albus Dumbledore."

Mr. Weasley led the group, now laden with packages, out of the bookstore. "What shall we do now?" he asked. "It's over an hour before the train leaves. Would anyone like a snack?" Suddenly he spied a familiar red-headed figure appearing around a corner. "Percy!" he exclaimed.

George and Fred broke into laughter. "If it isn't the Ministry's own Head Boy!"

"Top of the morning to you, sir!"

"Percy, have they got you delivering parcels these days?"

Percy gave the twins a brief look of disdain, but greeted the rest of the family warmly.

"What are you doing over here, Percy?" asked Molly Weasley. "The ministry's on the other end of Diagon Alley."

As Percy launched into a long description, Ron turned to Harry. "He and Dad have been working together," he explained quietly, "tracking down some Muggle items that belonged to a dead witch. They seem to be haunted."

A long minute later Percy finished up. "…and now I'm on my way back to the Ministry to have them checked over."

Arthur looked at his son proudly. "Can you spare a moment to join us for a bite?" Percy nodded. "How about the Rabbit-Hole Bakery?" he suggested, pointing to a large round window across the street. As they queued up at the door, Harry caught sight of Hecate ahead of them in line.

"Professor," he called. Ron and Hermione looked at him strangely.

"You mean that girl with the earphones?" asked Hermione. "Who is she?"

"The new Defense mistress," explained Harry. He called again. "Professor Takushiki?"

Fred nudged George. "Oooh, defend me," he sighed.

George nudged back. "Oooh, with your lips, babe…Ouch!"

Hopping on one foot, he turned a wounded look at his mother, who stared back reprovingly.

"Behave yourself, George, or I'll step on the other one."

Harry took a deep breath and decided to take the plunge. "Hecate?" he called, as Ron chuckled. Instantly her head bobbed up and she smiled broadly. "I'd like you to meet some of my friends."

Harry felt very grown-up as he introduced Prof. Takushiki to Hermione and the Weasleys. How confident she is, he thought, how quickly she makes new friends. One by one she shook hands with everyone, putting even Molly Weasley at ease. As she took Percy's hand, though, the boxes under his arm slid out and tumbled to the floor. Prof. Takushiki bent down to retrieve one that had landed by her feet. As she stood up, her face turned very grave. "Oh, my," she exclaimed. "Do you know where this came from?" She handed it gingerly back to Percy.

Percy nodded proudly. "Yes, very sad," he said solemnly. "A suicide, I'm afraid."

"No," said Hecate thoughtfully, "no, she didn't look like one at all. I think instead she…" She looked up to see everyone watching her. "Er, would you excuse us for a moment?" She took Percy's arm firmly and steered him outside. Through the racks of cakes, Harry watched her look up and down the street, then begin to talk earnestly to Percy. By the time they returned, Arthur Weasley was passing around eclairs. Each pastry sent out brilliant flashes of light whenever it was moved or bitten, and the overall effect was like a fireworks display. Harry looked closely at Percy, whose veneer of self-importance had crumbled. He looked shaken, even near to tears.

"I must leave now, Father," explained Percy, with all the dignity he could muster. "I must get back to the Ministry right away."

"What about your eclair?" asked his father. Percy shook his head. "Is there anything I can do?" Percy nodded.

"Can we talk on the way back to the office? We need to contact Dumbledore immediately."

"Go ahead, dear," said Molly Weasley, "I'll see everyone off."

Percy managed a wan smile. "Good-bye, everyone, until the holidays."

George glanced across the wide table at his mother, then grinned. "Maybe _Hecate_ would like Percy's eclair – wouldn't you, _Hecate_?" He winced as Ron kicked him, hard, under the table. Prof. Takushiki stifled a chuckle. "I could never say no to chocolate, but these do hurt my eyes," she said. She pulled a pair of dark glasses from her pocket and put them on before accepting the sweet.

"Professor Takushiki?" asked Hermione, and this time the young Defense mistress looked up. "We were just discussing the books for this year. May I ask you a question about them?"

"And I have a few after you," said Molly Weasley. "On the way to the station, perhaps?" She looked around the table. "Is everyone ready? Off we go then, and don't forget your parcels. Next stop, Platform 9 3/4!"


	3. Beginnings, part 1

**Chapter 3: Beginnings**

The cavernous entrance hall was milling with staff and pupils as Harry and Hermione entered, shaking the last of the carriage straw from their cloaks. From somewhere deep inside the throng, Harry heard Professor Flitwick squeaking "Into the Great Hall, everyone, please!"

Professor McGonagall, the Transfigurations teacher, stood to one side, waiting for the first years to enter. "I wonder if I've got time to speak to her now," said Hermione thoughtfully.

"Hermione, it's your first day back!" answered Harry in despair. "At least wait until lessons start!"

"Hello again – What a crowd!" said a bright voice in Harry's ear. Harry turned round. Professor Takushiki was standing behind him smiling. In her plain black cloak, she looked hardly older than the students. Another figure stood beside her, carrying her trunk in its arms. As it let out a groan, Harry realized that it was Ron.

"Are you all right, Ron?" asked Hermione anxiously.

Ron's flushed face appeared over the top of the battered suitcase. He gave the three of them a sickly grin. "Fine!" he gasped and dropped the trunk with a bang that made Crookshanks twitch in Hermione's arms. "Where do you want me to take it, Professor?" he added, sitting down on it suddenly.

"I'll have to find Professor Sprout. I'm going to be helping her in Hufflepuff House," answered Takushiki. "She'll know where my room is. Then I need to speak to the Headmaster."

"You'll be lucky tonight, what with the Sorting," said Hermione and began to explain.

As she did so, Harry looked round; there was no sign of Professor Sprout. Professor McGonagall was now shepherding the first years into the small chamber beside the Great Hall. Professor Flitwick's hat could be seen bobbing into the hall itself, carried along like its owner by a tide of chattering pupils.

Suddenly he heard Takushiki say; "Who's that? He must be a teacher. I'll ask him..."

Harry turned to the outer doorway. Standing just inside was Professor Snape. His cloak, hat and the large mahogany broom tucked under his arm were covered with dust as if their owner had been flying far and fast on the hot Summer's day.

"That's Professor Snape," he began. "He's..." and then he stopped and wondered what to say. My least favourite teacher? An enemy I seem to have inherited from my father? Someone I wouldn't ask for help if every Dementor in Azkaban were after me?

"The Potions master, right?" continued Takushiki and began walking across the now rapidly emptying hallway, her hand outstretched. Harry gulped. It was like watching a baby rabbit hopping up to a snake.

"Professor Snape?" Hecate said. "Hi, I'm Hecate Takushiki. Nice to meet you. Could you tell me where I can find Professor Sprout of Hufflepuff House?"

There was an awkward pause as Snape ignored her and brushed the dust off his hat. Then, with a final shake, he put it back on, turned to Hecate and fixed her with the cold, black eyed stare that Harry knew only too well.

"Professor Sprout of Hufflepuff?" he said blandly. A stranger might have mistaken his tone for politeness; Harry, Ron and Hermione, who had the dubious pleasure of being taught by Snape, exchanged alarmed glances.

"Certainly," the potions master continued. "Perhaps, when I have given you your directions, you might return the favour and give Professor Sprout a short message from me?"

"Say the words!" answered Takushiki, looking puzzled.

"They are as follows:" said Snape. "That she has my profound sympathies for the fact that fate has given her a new pupil with the manners of a boar hound and the intelligence of a flobberworm. I cannot imagine, young lady, what you can have done to be expelled from your last school." He gave Hecate's blue streaked hair and green scandals a scowl. "It doesn't appear to have had a dress code - or a code of conduct - but in this establishment pupils address the staff with some respect. " His eyes flickered over Harry and his friends. "Five points from Hufflepuff for rudeness. Be thankful it isn't more. It will be if this behaviour is repeated."

Ron gave Harry a delighted nudge in the ribs. "Stupid old git!" he whispered.

Hecate paused. Then she smiled pleasantly at Snape. "This is a school with rules then, is it Professor?" she said.

"It certainly is!" the potions master snapped back at her.

"It must be, if even the staff can be fined house points." replied Hecate evenly. Snape opened his mouth and then shut it. To Harry, he looked as if the new bit of information had left a bad taste in his mouth. More footsteps rang in the hall, and Snape glanced around. Professor Sinistra swept up to the two professors, his arms raised in a grand gesture.

"Hecate, my dear, how wonderful to see you! Welcome to Hogwarts! Professor Sprout sends her apologies, she hoped to be here to meet you herself. I see you've already met Prof. Snape, our potions master and head of Slytherin House. Severus, this is our new mistress of Defense. She was Head Girl and my top student at Morgaine, not so very long ago."

Snape looked from one to the other, clearly discomfited. "Yesterday, perhaps? Exactly when did the Hogwarts governors begin hiring green young flibbertigibbets into the professorate?" he demanded, his voice rising. "Is _she_ teaching _Defense_? Ridiculous!"

"Professor Snape, I fight boggarts, I'm not one myself," said Hecate, sounding amused.

"Ah, yes, boggarts," said Sinistra, raising his eyebrows. Snape's lips became even thinner as he pursed them and looked away.

"Please, miss, we've done them!" volunteered Ron brightly.

"Good!" answered Hecate. "Now, I need to speak to the Headmaster as soon as possible."

"He'll be in his office tomorrow, that's your best chance, he almost never leaves it these days," replied Sinistra. His large hands danced expressively in the air. "Some business with the Ministry has preoccupied him all summer long. But come along, my dear, and sit by me at dinner. Filch the caretaker will see to your luggage, just leave it there. You don't know how delighted I am to see you again." They moved off together into the great hall, already deep in conversation.

"I wonder what she needs to see Dumbledore about?" murmured Hermione. "You know, if we have to have a new Defense teacher, I'm glad it's her."

Harry nodded. But suddenly a vision of Professor Lupin's sad, gentle face filled his mind and before he could stop himself he burst out angrily, "Of course, Professor Lupin wouldn't have had to leave if some people hadn't treated him unfairly and lost him the only decent job he ever had." In the silence that followed he heard Snape's robes slithering over the floor towards him. The potions master paused beside the little group.

"Don't get too attached to Miss whatever-she-calls-herself, Potter," he sneered. "given this school's record with Defense teachers since you arrived. As for Lupin…" he paused and smirked, "well, let's be optimistic. There's bound to be a freak show hiring somewhere." He disappeared down the corridor that led to his dungeon office.

Harry filed into the Hall and seated himself between Ron and Hermione at the Gryffindor table. Next to the staff table with its brilliant multicolored tablecloth, Professor McGonagall shepherded the new students into a line and adjusted their robes. On each side of the hall stretched the student tables, draped in the colors of each Hogwarts house. Thousands of candles floated in midair over the tables, casting a soft yellow light. The tables were set with golden plates and goblets, which brilliantly reflected each tiny flame. Harry looked up past the candles. The ceiling of the Hall was decorated as for a starry night, but no stars were ever so bright. Watching closely, he could see them gradually revolving around the ceiling as the crescent moon trudged from east to west. The hall was filled with students, all wearing their black robes and pointed hats.

Harry glanced over at the new students. They looked terribly young and uncertain. Ron nudged him. "Remember when…?" Harry nodded. He pointed across the room to the far end of the staff table where a small figure in black was being escorted to her chair by a short, round witch with gray hair. Several steps behind them, an old man floated along, seated on a flying carpet.

"There's Prof. Takushiki – and somebody else new. "

Ron grinned. "She looks as scared as the first-years. Oh, look, she's found Sprout."

"There's Hagrid!" exclaimed Hermione. She waved, and the burly giant broke into a huge smile and waved back. "And here comes Dumbledore! They must be ready to start the Sorting!"

Prof. Flitwick emerged from a door at the far end of the staff table and toddled to the middle of the Hall, carrying a three-legged stool on which rested a battered wizard's hat. A rip near the brim lifted up and it began to sing in a strange, scratchy voice, reminding Harry of fabric tearing. Hermione leaned over toward him. "Listen! The song's different each year. That thing must be _brilliant!_ Do you ever wonder where it keeps its brain?"

Harry shrugged and lifted his eyebrows. Ever since the hat had tried to put him in Slytherin, his first year, he had wondered the same thing, but had never quite gotten round to asking Dumbledore. McGonagall ushered the first newcomer forward, and the Sorting began. One by one, each child donned the ancient hat and waited in anticipation until it called out the name of the House to which the newcomer would belong. As each student was Sorted, his or her new House broke into cheers and welcomed their new member with handshakes and backslaps. Before long there were ten new Gryffindors seated the long red table, and Flitwick ceremoniously bore the Hat and stool from the hall.

Suddenly Harry's eye was drawn to an empty seat near the middle of the staff table. He tapped shoulders on either side of him. "Ron! Hermione! Do you see Snape anywhere?"

"Snape? Why do you have to bring him up now?" protested Hermione.

"Because he's not here."

"Probably searching out a glass jar to put Hecate in after he's pickled her," said Ron, with feeling. "That miserable git's the only bad thing about Hogwarts."

Dumbledore cleared his throat and began his welcome speech. Down the table, Fred and George were snickering to each other. "Where does he get his jokes?" hissed Fred, in a stage whisper. "They're worse every year!"

"Whatever he's paying for them, it's too much!" George hissed back. The Headmaster looked directly at them, a twinkle in his deep gray eyes, and continued unabashed. After welcoming the new students he introduced the new faculty, and they found that the old man seated near Hecate was Prof. Kettleburn.

"What do you suppose he's teaching?" asked Ron. "Whatever it is, I'm not sure he looks up to the job." Indeed, he seemed either frail or senile, not bothering to rise from his seat, merely lifting his left arm feebly in response to Dumbledore's introduction.

The Headmaster's speech ended, as usual, with the Hogwarts school song. Uproar filled the hall as everyone began to sing the ancient verses to the tune of their choice. Finally the singing, or what passed for it, subsided. Dumbledore smiled beatifically and folded his hands. "Let the Feast begin!" he announced. Immediately the platters on the tables filled with wonderful food – roast beef, chops, braised cabbage, mashed potatoes, carrots swimming in orange-scented butter, peas with mint, duck with port wine sauce, asparagus hollandaise – each dish looking more delicious than the next. Several seats away, Parvati Patil and a seventh-year wearing a prefect's badge helped themselves to mounds of rice and ladlefuls of different colored stews, which diffused an appetizing fragrance of curry.

Next to Harry, Ron suddenly stiffened, then pointed. Professor Snape was making his way along the staff table. With a perfunctory nod he seated himself and began to fill his plate. From the lull in the conversation, Harry knew that he and Ron were not the only ones to observe the Potions master. Snape himself appeared to notice the silence; he glanced up from his plate warily. At once the Slytherin table broke into thunderous applause, which was joined tentatively by the first-year students at the other three tables.

"They'll find out soon enough," observed Ron. He reached for a third helping of grilled liver with bacon - only just in time, for all of the serving dishes rose into the air a moment later and drifted, wavering slightly, in a ragged line toward the kitchen. In their place appeared a dazzling array of desserts. Already full to bursting, Harry contented himself with a pear and a small dish of trifle, while Ron gamely tucked away French silk pie, rice pudding, banana cake and even a few balls of gulab jamun that had been passed down from Parvati's section of the table. When no one could eat another bite, Dumbledore stood again to dismiss the feast. Hermione glanced at her watch.

"It'll be midnight in an hour," she observed. "Good thing we have tomorrow off."

"We don't either," replied Harry. "Alicia wants to start Quidditch tryouts tomorrow before breakfast; that'll account for Ron and me."

"And I know where you'll be," teased Ron. "The library, right?"

Hermione grinned back. "You know me too well," she said ruefully. "D'you know, I can't wait to get back there? I missed it all summer long."

As they approached the entrance to the Gryffindor common room, they passed the Gryffindor prefect again, who was explaining something to the new students. "Hullo, what's the password tonight?" asked Harry.

"Somnus profundus," she replied cheerfully. A couple of the first years were nudging each other.

"Say, aren't you Harry Potter?" said one. Harry nodded, and they all goggled at him. Suddenly he felt exhausted.

"See you tomorrow," he said, and waved in what he hoped was a friendly gesture before boosting himself through the porthole. They passed through the common room and up the stairs to the dorm, where their trunks were laid out next to their four-poster beds. Harry barely had the energy to pull on pajamas and tumble into bed. Just before he drifted off, he remembered something: his Hogsmeade permission letter from Sirius Black. "I'll give it to Dumbledore in the morning," he thought, and fell asleep.


	4. Beginnings, part 2

Harry had just finished unpacking when he heard a knock on the dormitory door. It opened a crack and Hermione's voice asked, "Can I come in?"

"Sure!" called out several voices. She slipped through the door, holding a bit of parchment triumphantly. "Ron, Harry – Hagrid sent an owl this morning to invite us for lunch. Shall I accept for all of us?"

Teetering, Ron looked down from the top of the dresser where he was wrestling with a large poster of the Chudley Cannons. One by one, he pulled slips of Spellotape from his knuckles and chin, to anchor the poster. The players in the picture waved and pointed to all the places that still needed taping.

Ron nodded, Spellotape and all. "Count me in. I want to show him Feather." The tiny owl, hearing his name, gave a soft peep from the windowsill.

"Me too," said Harry. "That'll give me time to find Dumbledore and hand in my permission slip for Hogsmeade."

"Try the staff common room. Someone will know where to find him." advised Hermione.

"I have to see McGonagall about… well, anyway, I have to see her as soon as I finish unpacking my books. Later, then?" Seeing their nods, she slipped away.

"If you can find the staff common room, that is," said Ron with a grin. He taped down one last corner and hopped off the dresser as the players applauded him. "You know how everything moves around here over the Summer."

"Come with me then," said Harry. "Two heads are better than one."

They set off through the maze of corridors. All of the landmarks had moved. The statue which overlooked the kitchen doors last year was now guarding the empty staff room, and two of the staircases had switched places. They were getting nowhere when they finally ran into Nearly Headless Nick, the Gryffindor ghost. Hearing of their problem, he bowed graciously and flowed through the corridors ahead of them, guiding them to a nook on the second floor, across from a sunny window. From the pile of notebooks outside the door, it was clear that Hermione had beaten them to their destination. Her voice, and the Headmaster's, floated clearly out of the office.

"How many times does Hermione have to hear 'No'?" Ron whispered, as they seated themselves on the slatted bench in the hallway.

"As many times as it takes." Harry peeked again through the partly open door into Dumbledore's sunny office. "Somehow I knew this was what she was on about. She ran herself into the ground last year with that thing, and now she wants to start all over. I guess McGonagall wouldn't let her have it, and he shouldn't either." At the sound of footsteps in the hall, the two boys looked up. Prof. Takushiki smiled at them.

"Hello Harry, hello Ron. May I join the queue?"

"It may take a while, Professor," confessed Ron. He scrambled to gather an armful of Hermione's fat notebooks atop his slender ones. "Here, ah, take my seat."

"No need for that, there's room for three." She seated herself and Ron squeezed in beside her, blushing slightly. "Lovely weather for a broomstick ride. Has Gryffindor begun their Quidditch practices yet?"

Ron beamed. "We were up at dawn and had tryouts 'til a little while ago. I think we have a good chance at the Cup again." The door squeaked open a bit farther and Hermione backed into the hall, disappointment written all over her face.

Dumbledore's voice rang out. "Prof. Takushiki, is that you? I'm sorry to be late. Won't you please come in?"

As soon as Prof. Takushiki had entered the office, Hermione turned toward the two boys and grimaced. "You were right. Just don't say 'I told you so'."

"You mean you finally realize you don't need a time-turner?" asked Ron.

"No!" retorted Hermione. "I meant that he won't give it to me again."

Harry stood up. "Come on, you two. It's nearly time for lunch at Hagrid's." They rose, stepping close to the wall to avoid a large group of Slytherins on their way to the dining hall.

"Headmaster's Pets," taunted Draco. His sidekicks Crabbe and Goyle laughed on cue, and Crabbe stuck out a foot. Hermione tripped over it and fell, bumping into Ron. Their books and papers spilled from their arms as they tumbled onto the stone floor. " _So_ sorry you dropped your encyclopedia, Professor Granger," Draco sneered. "It was an accident. Really." He trod deliberately on the nearest book, leaving a dirty footprint on a page of arithmantic equations. Laughing, the Slytherins continued down the hall.

"Ooh! that Crabbe!" hissed Hermione through clenched teeth. "If I could just get my wand on him, I'd turn him inside out!" She rubbed her knee, where a bruise was already forming. Quietly the three began to gather the scattered papers, sorting as they picked them up. They could hear Dumbledore's voice behind the still-open door.

"I received an owl post from Percy Weasley yesterday about a deceased witch. I must say, Professor, that any help you can provide us at this point would be most welcome. The records say only that she was dismissed from Lycée Morgaine for academic failure, and committed suicide two weeks later. A tragic story, really. What exactly can you tell me about the young lady?"

Harry, Ron and Hermione exchanged glances. Hermione peered up and down the empty hall, then silently let all her papers slide to the floor again. Ron followed suit. Slowly, very slowly, they began to gather them up.

"Not much yet, except that she was almost surely not a suicide," replied Takushiki.

"What kind of information are you looking for?"

"Hmmm…To tell the truth, Professor, I'm not sure myself. Mr. Weasley said there was an odd aura about some of her things, and I am hoping it will give us a clue about some, ah, other work we are doing. Anything at all would do for a start." There was a rustling sound, as if someone were moving papers around. "Excuse me, would you just put these books on that chair over there while I find the…Professor, what's the matter, you look startled!"

"It's just . . . just these books," said Takushiki weakly. "If you don't mind me asking, whose were they?"

"Oh, dear, I apologize," murmured Dumbledore. "It never crossed my mind that you'd see him, too. They belonged to a dear old friend, Nick Flamel, dead these two years. Here, I'll take them. Is that better?"

"Much," she said, relieved. "But give me one back, and I'll have another look at him for you. As you said, he's a bit distant now. Hmmm... he's with a plump grey-haired woman…she's waving."

"That would be Perenelle," said Dumbledore, sounding extremely pleased. "Anything else?"

"Yes," said Hecate, and chuckled. "He's waving his arms and shouting, though of course I can't hear him. It seems that he wants to give you a message."

On his knees, Harry swung his head under the bench and reached out for the last paper. Footsteps sounded in the hall again. Prof. McGonagall turned the corner and marched toward the office. "Off to Hagrid's, then?" Ron murmured. McGonagall pulled open the door and glanced into Dumbledore's office. With a hard look at the students, she stepped inside, closing it firmly behind her.

Harry was silent as he waited with Hermione at the owlery. He had barely arrived at Hogwarts again – not even long enough to hand in his permission form for Hogsmeade – and already he felt swept up in another mystery. Prof. Takushiki's voice had held a distinct note of alarm. He wondered what was happening in the Headmaster's office at that moment. Dumbledore did have a tendency to stretch people to their limits, he mused, remembering Lupin pale and exhausted on the train, and his own nocturnal visits to the Mirror of Erised. He put his thoughts aside as a moment later Ron appeared, Feather drowsing on his finger.

Hermione brought it up first. "Isn't it amazing that Takushiki can really see dead people? Remember when she picked up that thing of Percy's and reacted?"

Ron nodded. "She must see anyone whose possessions she touches. Imagine living that way, with dead people popping up everywhere you turn."

"And she put on dark glasses in the bakery, for nothing more than an éclair. She must have sensitive eyes, " continued Hermione.

"Magical sight," corrected Ron. "I've heard of it. It's one of those rare gifts, like Parseltongue. I don't see what it's good for, though," he added.

"Seeing through invisibility cloaks, maybe?" asked Harry.

"No, that's a different one. Say, did she say anything about dead people when you talked with her before?"

Harry considered. "Yes and no. For what it's worth, she used to work in war zones, calming down restless ghosts."

"Wouldn't she have to talk with them to calm them down?" asked Hermione. "But she said she couldn't hear Flamel, even though he was shouting. How would they communicate?"

An image flashed through Harry's mind, a scene from Dudley's brief tenure in the Boy Scouts. "Semaphore, maybe?"

As Hermione began to explain to Ron, Harry returned to his thoughts. One returned again and again, no matter how many times he pushed it away. Finally he gave up and let it wash over him: What if Hecate can see my parents?

As always, the front garden of Hagrid's hut was blooming wildly with herbs and flowers. Goldenrod waved to them above the old stone walls and vines looped crazily over the old stone wall. As they entered the gate, the door of the hut creaked open. A small face crowned with curly blond hair peeked out and straightaway ducked back inside. There was an excited clatter, and a small voice piped, "Ooh! Hagrid! They're here!"

"Now then, Rodney, calm yerself," replied Hagrid in soothing tones. When the door opened again, Hagrid stood in the opening, grinning exuberantly. One by one he swept each of them up in a giant bear hug.

"Come in an' meet Rodney," said Hagrid. "Come out from behind th' chair, lad!" The bright little face emerged from behind Hagrid's battered armchair, followed by a pair of dainty ivory hooves, and finally the rest of a baby centaur darted out and hid behind Hagrid's legs, hugging one of his knees. Hagrid scooped him up with one enormous hand and settled him in the crook of his arm. "Firenze's been called away on urgent business, an' left 'im wi' me for a few weeks."

"Who are the humans, Hagrid?" asked Rodney. He cocked his head to one side and stared at Hermione. "Is that a book? Are you a _girl_?"

"Ron, Harry, and Hermione," Hagrid told him, pointing. "They're friends o' mine, so mind yer manners." He set the wiggling Rodney down. Aside, he said, "There aren't any women centaurs. An' before you ask," (he shrugged) "I don't know."

"Is that an owl?" asked Rodney, prancing excitedly. "Why's he so little?"

Ron held out his finger where the sleeping Feather perched. He ruffled his spotted feathers as Rodney stroked him, then opened his eyes and flew up to the top of Hagrid's coat rack, where he settled again.

"That's a cute little owl," remarked Hagrid. "Where'd you get him?"

"On the way back home from school last year," answered Ron truthfully. "Scabbers ran off again, this time for good, I think."

"That kind's strong for their size. Loyal too; he'll fly 'is heart out for yeh. Don't make him carry anything too heavy, though." At this Ron looked up suddenly to find Hagrid winking at him.

"How was your summer, Hagrid?" asked Harry.

"Trips upon trips to London," replied Hagrid, shaking his shaggy head. "Bringing papers and what-all back an' forth between Fudge an' Dumbledore...a ruddy snowstorm! Loads of other errands as well. Yesterday I got back only jus' in time for th' Sorting."

"What is it they're working on?"

"Mind, I can't tell yeh any details, but since Black escaped, there's a rumor that You-know-who helped him get away. An' another pack o' rumors goin' round that that You-know-who has a servant who's helpin' him regain his powers. No one's heard from either o' them, or knows where they are." He lowered his voice. "Dreadfu' business, if yeh ask me. Dumbledore's got an idea that You-know-who will come after yeh again, Harry. He's worried sick about yeh."

Hagrid paused, looking meaningfully at each of them in turn. "You kids tried ter take on th' Dark side yerselves las' year – and th' two years before that as well. Yeh know very well yeh can't go on like that. 'S jus' too dangerous. So I want yeh all ter promise me that if yeh stumble on somethin', yeh won't go after it alone again. Now, don't go lookin' at me that way!" he growled. "Yeh're all like Rodney, all of yeh - Drawn ter anything that puzzles yeh 'til yeh fin' th'answer. An' don' tell me it's not true," he stated flatly.

Hagrid took a deep breath. "I won' tell yeh not ter pry. Yeh can't help it, an' yeh've got a right t' know if yeh're in danger." He grinned suddenly. "An' mind, yeh're damn good at it, too, th' three of yeh! But yeh've got ter promise ter tell Dumbledore whatever yeh find out, even ter the least of yer suspicions. Whether or not yeh get inter trouble for't. Yeh're all old enou' now to have some judgment abou' these things." He looked deep into their eyes again, one at a time.

"Promise me then. I'll take nothin' for an answer excep' yer word of honor as a Gryffindor."

It was the longest speech they had ever heard Hagrid make.

"If it will ease your mind, Hagrid…" began Hermione.

Hagrid leaned back in his chair, his eyes filling with tears. "It'll do that, but tha's not why I'm asking. It's jus'…well, if anythin' should happen ter the three of yeh…" He wiped his eyes on his sleeve.

Hermione looked at the other two. "We promise. Don't we?" Ron nodded, and then Harry. Hagrid brightened, and blew his nose loudly on a towel-sized handkerchief.

"On ter happier topics then – how abou' some lunch?" He set out a huge loaf of brown bread and a tub of butter , and ladled out bowls of soup from the great cauldron on the stove. Rodney skittered around the room. "Do you like it?" he asked, before they had even picked up their spoons. "It's stone soup! Like in the story! I helped make it!"

Hagrid handed him a slab of bread, thickly buttered. "Go on, have yer lunch outside."

"Th' wee rogue's inter everything!" chuckled Hagrid. "There he goes, chasing gnomes aroun' th' pumpkin patch." They all crossed to the window to look, as Hagrid continued.

"Them slugs were right pesky this spring, but there's a new kind o' slug poison now, Professor Snape mentioned it, he's allus up on th' lates' potions. Dead right, too, he was - th' shop across from Borgin an' Burke's had it right there in th' window."

Harry stared at him. "Snape has been shopping in Knockturn Alley?"

Hagrid threw his head back and winced. "Ar, forget I said that. Mind, he was prob'ly there on some errand for Dumbledore." There was an awkward silence as they watched Rodney sneak up on a gnome.

"Er, are you teaching Care of Magical Creatures again?" Ron finally asked.

"No, I've got no head for that sort o' thing." Hagrid shook his head ruefully and scratched the back of his neck. "Kettleburn's back part time fer the lectures until the Headmaster can hire someone else, but I'll do all th' animal handling. Kettleburn's got no taste fer it, an' it's hard fer him, workin' from a carpet like that."

"So that's who Kettleburn is – I thought the name sounded familiar. You two will make a good team," observed Hermione.

"Dumbledore said I'd be his right-hand man. Good thing too, seein' as he doesn' have one of his own."

After lunch, they helped Hagrid wash up, then headed back to the castle: Hermione to the library to get a head start on her schoolwork, and Harry, still tired, to the dorm for a nap. "Can I borrow the Firebolt?" asked Ron hesitantly. Harry tossed it to him.

"Sure – I won't need it till practice tomorrow." He remembered something. "Professor Takushiki wanted to try it out too," he told his friend. "If you're not going to use it all afternoon long…"

"Right!" said Ron, brightly. "I'll check with her now."


	5. Beginnings, part 3

The first day of classes dawned cool and bright. Perfect weather, commented Prof. Sprout, for a morning herb harvest. They picked goldenrod and coneflowers until their fingers were sore, then proceded to nightshade. By the time the last rank-smelling berry was laid in the drying oven, they had to run to lunch.

Brushing the last crumbs from his robe, Ron led the way up the stairs to the Defense classroom. The rest of the fourth year class was waiting in the hallway, some chatting, and some fidgeting. Behind the closed door, muffled voices could be heard. Hermione checked her watch and pushed past a few Slytherins, avoiding Crabbe's outstretched foot. Harry was not so lucky. He tripped - and careening forward, felt two small hands grip him firmly and set him upright. He looked up in embarrassment to see Cho Chang smiling at him. "Are you all right? You're much better on a broomstick!"

"Thanks", said Harry sheepishly. "I, er, didn't expect to see you here."

Cho smiled. "Scheduling conflict," she explained. "Sinistra let me drop the course third year. This year I have to double up." She turned to walk away, and Harry noticed how gracefully she moved. Passing Crabbe, she sidestepped almost imperceptibly and brushed him on the elbow. Harry watched in amazement as Crabbe's eyes widened and he toppled, falling with a thud among the other Slytherins. Amidst their snickers he heaved himself to his feet, red-faced, and advanced on Cho, hesitating only when a click came from the classroom door.

It opened and Prof. Takushiki stepped out, followed by Prof. Snape. She glanced back at him with a perfectly calm face. "Much as I appreciate your advice, Professor, there's really no need to trouble yourself on my account, " she said levelly. "I wouldn't dream of taking up your time."

Snape glared. "Miss Takushiki, you will not dismiss me so easily."

"Not at all, Professor." Her words sounded like syrup falling on ice. "I would be honored to have you observe any time you like, but I'm afraid it won't be very interesting today." Snape stood back from the door and glared at the students who filed nervously past him and seated themselves at the long, scarred tables. Harry found a chair between Hermione and Ron, and glanced to the back of the classroom. Snape stood stiffly next to the door, his arms folded tight over his chest.

"Good morning fourth years, " said the new Mistress of Defense. She allowed herself a smile. "I am delighted to meet you and I hope to learn a great deal from you this year." Snape snorted loudly. Takushiki's eyes flickered briefly to the back of the classroom, then to the center table where Malfoy and his friends were covering a snicker. "I've heard that your curriculum over the past three years has been somewhat, er, irregular. I don't want to bore you with material you've been over already, or hold you responsible for skills your former instructors never covered. So today, we'll start with a pre-test to find out what you know right now about Defense Against the Dark Arts."

Hermione's hand shot into the air. "But Professor, that's not fair! A test on the first day? We've had no time to study!"

Takushiki grinned. "That's why the answers on this test don't count - only the good will and effort you put into them." She picked up an armful of scrolls. "Pass these around, please. I'll collect them at the end of class." Quietly, she seated herself at the desk and opened a large purple book. Harry leafed through the test for a moment, then began to write. Behind them, the classroom door closed with a click.

The sun was still high after supper as the Gryffindor team mounted their brooms at the castle gate and sped out to the Quidditch pitch. Fred and George Weasley, the Beaters, flew on either side of Harry, all of them following the team's Chasers - Angelina Johnson, Katie Bell and the new captain, Alicia Spinnet. Behind them flew several new players who had tried out for the team. The Gryffindor Keeper, Oliver Wood, had graduated the year before, and Harry wondered who would be the new Keeper and how the selection would be made. Though it was their first practice as a team, Spinnet seemed already a bit keyed up, and with good reason – the season was to open in only six weeks, with a game against their arch-rival Slytherin.

Harry was itching to get into the air and found it difficult to wait as Alicia led a discussion of the tryouts from the last two days. Both Ron and Seamus Finnegan had tried out for Keeper, but neither one was anywhere near as skilled as Wood had been. Other candidates including Neville Longbottom and Dean Thomas were adequate for reserves but looked unlikely to start. Wood's strategy had been to keep the team small and close-knit, with seven starters and practically no reserves, but Spinnet was now announcing that the starters and reserves would all train together. If any key player were to have an injury or fall, she explained, well trained reserves would be the key to the Quidditch cup. She got to the point faster than Wood, thought Harry, but she still went on too long.

At last it was time to select the new Keeper. "You chaps can't vote," she commanded Fred and George. "You're too close to the candidates." Guffawing, each of them put both hands in the air anyway, resulting in an 8 - 0 decision in favor of Ron. They mounted their broomsticks and began some drills.

Harry was exhausted by the time Quidditch practice ended. They had stopped only when darkness began to fall. The other players headed back to the castle, hoping that they still had energy for homework, but Harry remained to take a final few laps around the field on the Firebolt, which seemed to have developed a vibration in one twig. Pulling out of a dive, he spotted Cho Chang flying toward him all alone. He coasted over and drew even with her in mid-air. "Er, hello, Cho," he ventured. "What are you doing out here without the team?"

In answer, Cho grinned and turned a spectacular twisting back flip. "Aerobatics," she explained. Noting Harry's puzzled look, she continued. "It's an athletic art form, like Muggle gymnastics. Shall I show you a few moves?" Harry nodded, and she took off like a shot, rising into the air like a rocket and executing a series of barrel rolls, loop the loops and spins on her way down. Her broomstick, noticed Harry, was particularly short and stubby, not as fast as the Firebolt, but incredibly agile. "More?" she asked, and was off again in a slalom, a climbing helix and a spectacular dive with an upside-down recover.

"Amazing! I've never seen anything like it," admitted Harry, drawing alongside her again as she turned right-side up. She leant her head back and shook it, her long hair streaming back from her face.

"It's even more fun in a group," she continued with a smile. "Have you ever seen the Eastwick Eagles or the Vauxhall Vultures? They're precision aerobatics teams. I'm going to fly with them some day." She moved off in a lazy arc and Harry followed, his spine tingling. How could he keep her attention? he wondered.

"Teach me some moves," he asked, "if you think the broomstick will cooperate."

She looked over the Firebolt critically. "S'no good for tight spins, too long," she pronounced. "But it should do fine for dives and rolls. Here, point slightly upward like this," she said, adjusting the broomstick to a gentle climb, "and roll!" She threw herself to the side, circled around the stick and came back to vertical, then went back the other way. Harry tried, stiffly, and ended up twenty feet away, ten feet lower, and laughing. "Not bad for a first try!" she cried, and darted down to meet him. They practiced together under the gathering clouds until it was too dark to ride.

Chatting on the walk back to the castle, Harry asked Cho about the first day in Defense class. "Oh, that," she said, a bit embarrassed. "I really shouldn't have taken his balance like that, but he had it coming for what he did to you and Hermione."

"But how did you do it?" put in Harry. "You just brushed against him and he went down."

"My father taught me," she explained. "He lives for martial arts. My mum says it's his own special type of magic." They talked about their childhoods among Muggles in Surrey and in London's fashion district, about Potions, where Snape had singled both of them out, and about the upcoming Quidditch season. All too soon they were back at the castle.

"Shall we do this again sometime?" asked Harry hopefully. Cho grinned. "You bet! That was fun – but it's getting late now. Homework calls!" With a last melodic laugh and a wave, she sped off down a corridor.

Ron leaned over to Harry as they seated themselves for the first Potions class of the year. "Seems like we never left, doesn't it?" Ron was right, thought Harry. Draco and his friends snickered privately at the center table they had claimed as their own territory, while Neville followed Snape with round, frightened eyes. The Potions master finished handing out laboratory procedures, and moved to the head of the class, where he stared at them disdainfully.

"In earlier forms you have attempted only simple potions that require little skill in manufacture and little thought in use," he began in his soft voice. "They have worked upon living tissue - swelling, transforming, strengthening, and weakening. None of them has a lasting effect, and as you all have found out after your various episodes of carelessness, each one has a quick acting antidote. Child's play, I say. This year, if you are up to the work, you will master those potions that modify the mind and the senses. I only hope you can be trusted with them."

He paused to let his words sink in. "Last year you tested your potions on each other, by design or folly. This year, there will be no such nonsense. In your ignorant hands they are too dangerous for human testing. I should say, they invite disaster." He scanned the class, as if inviting disagreement, then jerked the cover off a large rectangular object, revealing a cage seething with mice.

"Anyone caught using potions on a fellow student, or taking them himself, will be severely punished. The more subtle the potion, the more precisely the first law applies. And you _do_ remember the first law, don't you?" The class nodded, except for Neville, whose eyes grew rounder still. Snape studied him for a moment, then moved on.

"We shall begin today with potions that manipulate intelligence - or rather, with their _interesting_ side effects." He turned suddenly and fixed Harry with a baleful gaze. "Potter! What are they?

Harry was ready for him. He began, "It depends, but a gain is always balanced by a loss. The victim can lose some strength, teeth, some eyesight or hearing, straightness of limb, youth, or beauty."

Snape frowned. "Evidently Miss Granger badgered you into doing today's assigned reading. Your answer, however, is still incomplete." Harry's face fell and the rest of the class snickered.

"All right, Weasley, what did the illustrious Mr. Potter fail to list?" Ron shifted in his chair, his eyes downcast. A long moment passed. "Would a little draught of intelligence potion help, Mr. Weasley?"

Suddenly Ron brightened. He slapped the desk. "Cheerful disposition and sense of humor! You can lose your sense of humor." He added under his breath, "but only if you had one to begin with, you self-satisfied git."

"Not a great loss, Mr. Weasley, and in the case of some members of your family, possibly an improvement". Ron's face reddened, but Snape had already turned to his next victim. "Mr. Zabini, how long does an intelligence potion last?"

The lanky Slytherin hesitated for a moment. "It depends on, er, how much you take. The larger the, ah, dose, the stronger and shorter the effect, but the ah, the side effects are worse and they, ah, never go away."

"And the - aaah, Mr. Zabini, the, aaah, antidote?"

"There, ah, isn't any. You can take a stupidity potion, but it, ah, doesn't get rid of the side effects. It just adds on its own."

"And that is, aaah?"

"Ah…Big feet," muttered Zabini, trying to shove his long legs under his desk.

"And you will find that side effects are common to all mind-acting potions, except for one. Which one and why, Mr. Malfoy?"

Draco looked smug. "The elementary love potion. Falling in love brings both good and bad consequences."

Ron leaned toward Harry. "Everyone knows that," he whispered. "He's favoring Malfoy again."

Hermione raised her hand. "Professor, given the side effects, why would anyone want to take an intelligence potion?"

Snape stared down his nose at her. "Really, Miss Granger, I'm disappointed. In view of your reputation as a shining intellect, a most predictable question. Would anyone care to enlighten the erudite Miss Granger?" The question was met with utter silence. "Then perhaps you can enlighten the rest of us. You will prepare a one-scroll essay and a three-minute presentation on the subject for next week's class. Now, proceed to your benches. Your mice await their education."

Soon they were all busy cutting up thistle roots and rose hips. Neville squeezed his leech too hard and it shot out of his hands and flew across the room, provoking a shriek from Pansy Parkinson. A moment later, he dropped into his potion the owl feather that he was supposed to stir it with. Strangely enough, Snape paid him no attention beyond a black look. He seemed preoccupied in transcribing a page from a battered, musty book written in runes that Harry did not recognize. He saw that Hermione had noticed too. "What's that book he's got?" he whispered.

Hermione shook her head. "I can't even read the title – it's got all kinds of letters mixed up together – Celtic, Greek, Hebrew, and maybe even some Egyptian… I'll look for it in the library catalog later, there may be a translation there."

They left the class with a feeling of relief, especially Neville, whose mouse had advanced in intelligence second only to Hermione's. "That was amazing, wasn't it?" he ventured, "…how much better they ran the maze than the controls? Even though they moved more slowly?"

Parvati grimaced. "Didn't you feel sorry for them when they went lame and grey?"

Ron snorted. "That's nothing. D'you know what happens to them after class? Dinner for Mrs. Norris. She's probably tucking in right now." Mrs. Norris was the caretaker's cat, grey and scraggly, who patrolled the halls after lights-out and who seemed to hate the students as much as her owner did.

"Eeew!" exclaimed Parvati. "That's why I like Divination better. The news may be bad, but no one gets killed delivering it to you."

The next day at lunch, Hermione hardly touched her food. "I can't stand it!" she finally burst out. "I have to find out how I did on the test." Ron looked at Harry and rolled his eyes. "All right, Hermione, we'll all go." The three companions climbed the stairs to the Defense classroom and saw that the door was shut once again. Inside they heard Prof. Snape's sneering voice. "Exactly as I predicted. You've wasted an entire class finding out what I could have told you in five minutes. That idiot Lockhart could not have done better."

"Have a look for yourself then, if you insist. You'll see they know their elementals perfectly, though I've no idea how they got the notion that kappas were indigenous to Mongolia. " Her voice held an edge.

"They ought to have had their elementals perfectly the first year!"

"Well, they didn't have much of a teacher, did they? Nor the second year, from what I've heard." After a silence she began again, in placating tones. "May I ask you a favor? Come and visit the class in a couple of weeks, after we've made a start. You can let me know exactly what you think, and I'll have some questions for you. Will that do? Now, please excuse me. I have students to meet, and I hear some of them already."

The door burst open and Snape swept out, glaring at the three friends over a sheaf of papers.

Takushiki looked at them and closed her eyes for a moment. "No questions now, Hermione. I'll go through everything when the lesson begins." She drew a deep breath and managed a smile. "But if you don't mind, I'll ask you a few. Prof. Snape told me that one of the earlier Defense masters was actually possessed by You-know-who! Was that Quirrell, in the second year, or Leckhard in the first?"

"No, no," exclaimed Hermione. "Quirrell was in the first year, and the second year teacher was Lockhart, not Leckhard."

"Ah, so. And was Lockhart You-know-who's vassal, then?"

"Not quite. That was Prof. Quirrell, who wore the turban. Prof. Lockhart was, ah..." Hermione trailed off, at a loss for words.

"A fraud." put in Ron. "And full of himself to boot. We didn't learn a thing."

"You would have if you had gone to the library, " retorted Hermione.

Takushiki thought for a moment. "So, he must have been the werewolf!"

"No, that was Prof. Lupin." said Harry. "We couldn't have asked for a better teacher. No offense, Professor, but we all miss him. He taught us all about boggarts, and hinkypunks, and grindylows..."

"And werewolves," added Hermione. "Once his secret was out, everyone wanted to know the details. No one talked of anything else for a week."

"I can see he did a good job," said Prof. Takushiki, her eyes now twinkling. "You've quite forgotten your worries about that test. And rightly, too - a favorite teacher is far more important in the long run." She looked down. "Frankly, I wish I could have met him. Prof. Snape offered to help me get started in teaching, but – how shall I say this? – I have a lot to learn about working with him."


	6. Messages, part 1

**Chapter 4: Messages**

It felt odd, thought Harry, to walk out through the main gate of Hogwarts and down the sunny roadside on the first Hogsmeade weekend of the term. No dementors – no map, wand or invisibility cloak – he was there free and clear with his friends. Several faculty walked out through the gates and immediately Disapparated, including McGonagall, who gave them a cheerful wave before she winked out. A steady stream of students poured out of the gate, noisy and cheerful. Even Malfoy's crowd from Slytherin were too busy anticipating the excitement of Hogsmeade to bother with insults.

"My father's sent me so much money, I could _buy_ Hogsmeade!" they heard Draco say as they slipped past.

"Wonder what he'd pay someone to take Draco off his hands?" muttered Ron. "I'd do it for free!"

"Never mind him," answered Hermione. "Let's just enjoy ourselves!"

The road to Hogsmeade wound down the hill on which Hogwarts stood, through fields of corn and grazing land. Harry screwed up his eyes and squinted. From one angle, he could see the roofs of the houses nestled in the valley below. But a slight turn of the head, and the whole picture shimmered and disappeared. It would take a very sharp-eyed outsider to realise that the little village was even there. As Ron discussed the morning's Quidditch practice with Hermione, Harry looked round at the countryside through which they were walking. He could not help wondering if it was anything like the land around Godric's Hollow. But then he put the thought out of his mind as too dark for the sunny afternoon.

In a field at the bottom of the hill he saw that the hay in the middle had been flattened into a perfectly round circle. "Hey, a crop circle!" he cried, pointing for Ron and Hermione to see.

"Er, yeah," said Ron with a puzzled stare. "And?"

"Well, in the muggle world, people wonder what causes them" answered Harry defensively. "Like, is there a natural explanation, or is it aliens, or magic..."

"Of course it's magic!" snorted Ron. "Gnomes make them to have boxing matches in. What else do you think could be causing ruddy great holes in the middle of fields except magic creatures? That's why the farmer's put a scarecrow in."

On the far side of the field Harry saw a thin dark figure, its arms outstretched at right angles to its side. The three friends stopped to look at it; somehow it seemed to sense them and began to walk stiffly over to where they stood, jerking as if an unseen puppeteer were working it by strings. As it came closer, Harry saw that it was made like a muggle scarecrow and dressed in someone's old cloak and hat. But, he thought, muggle scarecrows couldn't walk - or stare at you with blank faces of rotten straw that somehow you knew could see you, even though they had no eyes...

He took an involuntary step back as the scarecrow reached the fence. "The muggle ones don't walk," he explained in response to Ron's look of surprise.

"They can't be much good, then," his friend replied. "Mind you, if you thought throwing gnomes out of our garden was nasty, Harry, you don't want to know what the scarecrow does to them!"

"Can we get on?" asked Hermione, shivering. "We're wasting time!"

They quickened their pace, past a field of different coloured sheep ("easier than dyeing the wool after," explained Ron) and reached the village. They were in the main street almost immediately, on which stood the Quidditch shop, the Post Office, Zonko's, Honeydukes and the Three Broomsticks. It led down to a little park where they could hear a brass band practising. The streets were full of a Saturday throng of pupils and townspeople; Harry suddenly noticed that some of them were glancing at his scar and longed for the invisibility cloak. But no one made a fuss or spoke to him and he began to look round again.

Little alleys led away on either side of the avenue. In some, the upper stories of the houses were so bent and bowed by age that they almost touched.

"They like pigs here, don't they?" he said. It was true. On almost every gable was a carved, smiling hog's head.

"It's the legend of the brave Hog of Hogsmeade" said Hermione, in what Ron called her "swallowed a book" voice. "There's a statue to him somewhere too. Many centuries ago, Higglebert the Hog warned the villagers of the approach of Dark wizards by running around and squealing until everyone woke up!"

"So, they were so grateful, he lived in a golden sty for the rest of his life and no one in Hogsmeade has ever eaten another pig?" asked Harry innocently.

"Um, no, the Dark wizards besieged the village for six months and they had to turn him into sausages," answered Hermione as they passed a shop advertising "Prime Pork Cuts!"

They stopped at the tiny Quidditch Shop and went in. It seemed somehow much larger inside, and was packed with all sorts of sporting goods, racks of team-label robes, and a poster gallery, where wizard photos of the Belfast Blue Blazes and the Manx Manticores beamed down at them. Something caught Harry's eye as he turned away and he glanced back up again, chuckling at how fast the players had returned to making rude gestures at each other.

"Hey Ron, what's this stuff doing here?" Harry pointed to a display featuring badminton racquets, footballs in various sizes, and skateboards with helmets and kneepads.

"Oh, Muggle equipment – Kids use it before they develop their magic. My father brought home a bicycle once – now that was fun!"

Harry wandered over to a bookshelf and picked up a thin volume on aerobatics. Inside, not only did the figures in the pictures move, but small arrows darted around them, turning into instructions when touched. He flipped through it, picking up expressions like "angular momentum" and "acceleration vector" until he came to the barrel roll Cho had taught him, laid out in complete detail. He paid for the book and tucked it under his arm, figuring that it might be useful and if not, Cho would probably like it. At the other end of the store, Ron seemed very interested in a pair of weighted gloves ("Builds upper body strength – extends your useful reach") endorsed by the Keeper of the world champion Bulgarian team. As he slipped his hands into them, the Bulgarian flexed his biceps and gave him a fierce, gap-toothed grin. To Harry, he looked for all the world like one of the professional wrestlers Dudley followed.

"What do you think of those?" Harry asked, as Ron regretfully put the gloves back on the shelf.

"Great!" said Ron enthusiastically. "All the league players use them for training. Want to try them on? You can adjust the weights and everything." He paused, and his face grew wistful. "Well, never mind…I just hope I can do half as well as Wood. We wouldn't have got near the Cup last year if it weren't for his amazing saves."

Hermione had been listening. "No one can replace Wood – but you're forgetting, no one has to. Everyone plays in his own way."

"Just the same…" murmured Ron, his voice trailing off.

Harry considered. "Look, Ron – would you let me get those gloves for you?"

" No," replied Ron, a little too quickly. "I really couldn't." He shifted his weight, and Harry could see him tightening up. Harry backtracked.

"I mean, for you to use – they can officially be the team's. We could all use them."

Ron looked at the floor and rubbed his eyebrows. "That's not what you said a moment ago." A certain hoarseness had crept into his voice.

Hermione put a hand on his shoulder. "Look, Harry's Firebolt was a gift, wasn't it? It's the same thing. And when it's sweets, we all share and share alike."

"No, it's _not_ the same," hissed Ron, angry and embarrassed. "Those things are expensive. Malfoy will know in a minute, and I'll have to listen to him insult my father again." He fell silent, and Hermione looked at him concernedly.

"I'm sorry, Ron, I didn't mean to upset you." said Harry, feeling helpless.

"I know. It's OK, really it is. But I just can't, you know."

They passed the Three Broomsticks. The first lunchtime drinkers were standing outside, enjoying the autumn sunshine. From the small backyard they heard Hagrid's deep laugh. Peering through the back gate, they saw him seated at one of the scrubbed oak tables outside the pub, playing cards with a strange assortment of creatures. One was clearly a vampire, looking warily out from under the table's large parasol. One appeared to be made largely of mud and grass piled up into a vaguely human shape with ferns for hair and marsh orchids growing out of its ears. The third had a bag with eyeholes tied over its head. Each held a hand of cards.

"It's a shame to be takin' your money, folks!" Hagrid was saying cheerfully.

"What _is_ that smell?" coughed Ron.

"It's the swampmallow," explained Hermione through her handkerchief, pointing to the grassy pile sitting next to Hagrid. Rodney was curled up peacefully at its feet. "They live in swamps; well, they are swamps in a manner of speaking. No wonder Rosmerta doesn't want it inside." As they watched, a small frog jumped out of the swampmallow's chest and hopped away.

Harry eyed the third member of the card school suspiciously. From under the bag he could hear a hundred little voices hissing, "What did you play the Ace of Hearts for, idiot?" It was like listening to the basilisk again.

"Come on, let's go to Honeydukes," said Ron turning away.

When they reached the sweet shop, Takushiki was standing at the head of the queue holding a large bag of chocolate frogs.

"Essential teaching supplies!" she laughed, showing them. "And sometimes your body needs the vitamins only chocolate can give!"

"We're going to use them in class?" asked Hermione "How, professor?"

"Come to office hours and find out," answered Hecate with a broad grin. "Oh, I missed these in East Timor. You can magic them up but they never taste the same!" She picked Sickles and Knuts out of a small pouch with a pair of bamboo tongs and pushed them across the counter, then hurried out of the shop.

"Right." said Ron firmly. "Harry, what would you like? Chocoballs? Ice mice?" Harry opened his mouth to say that he would buy his own but then he saw the look on Ron's face and thought better.

"Ice mice, thanks, I haven't had them in a while," he replied and turned away as Ron fumbled in his pocket. Hermione bought sherbet for them all and they walked back to the school munching away.

Harry lay on his back, listening to the night sounds. He went over the last few days in his mind: lessons, homework, Quidditch, homework… This year, he thought, the professors were all picking up the pace in their classes, as if there were some urgency hanging over them all. He had been busy every minute during the summer, but it wasn't the same thing.

Hermione – well, Hermione always felt the pressure of academic work. And Ron, who never did, seemed caught up in worry over Quidditch. His skill and strategic sense were steadily improving, but so were his expectations of himself. The rumors about the Slytherin team didn't help – one said that their new Chaser was a natural; another, that they had something up their sleeve for the opening game. And their new captain, Montague, was one of Slytherin's top students, far better than Flint, who had had to repeat a year; perhaps Montague would be a better captain as well.

The only homework that wasn't wearing him down, he thought, was the reading in Defense. He had already seen all their Shakespeare plays on the telly. Luckily Aunt Petunia's tastes in entertainment were as highbrow as Dudley's were downmarket.

One afternoon Harry came downstairs from lunch to find the fourth years buzzing with excitement.

"What's going on – has Snape cancelled Potions today?" he asked, trying to make a joke.

"Oh no, I hope not!" said Hermione, seriously, as Parvati and Lavender giggled.

"No one wants to miss class today," volunteered Neville, "not even me. We're going to do a love potion – it says so right here on the schedule." He sneaked a look at Parvati, not hiding it very well. She in turn leaned over and whispered something to Lavender that made them both giggle.

Snape bustled up, uncharacteristically late, and unlocked the heavy dungeon door. He dropped an armful of papers on the desk and faced the class. Under his gaze, chilly as the dungeon lab, they all hastened to seat themselves.

"Love potions – Ha!" His voice dripped sarcasm. "Look at you all, babbling and twittering like idiots. Have you a notion of learning something useful today? Hoping to fulfil a few of those adolescent yearnings?" He snorted. "Credulous fools, the lot of you! If this abysmal foolishness weren't in the official curriculum, I would not permit you to waste your time with it." He paused, pacing back and forth. "Take this down: the most important fact about so-called love potions is that they are generally useless, overrated, and mark my words - _dangerous_ , even in this simplest preparation."

"Obviously none of them ever worked for him," Ron commented under his breath.

"Who wants to fall in love anyway? It distracts from more important things." whispered Hermione.

"Like what, studying?" Ron hissed back. "Give me a break!"

Upon Snape's instructions, Malfoy criss-crossed the room, passing out packets of glass slides and lancets in little snakeskin sleeves. At the next table, Neville went pale when he saw the sharp point, then red as Draco, snickering, hissed something at him. Despite Snape's mood, which was if possible more disdainful than usual, the class buzzed with excitement. Harry chuckled inwardly. Snape forced to discuss romance – there was something undeniably funny about it.

Hermione had, as usual, read up on the subject. "This recipe can't do much to you," she remarked. "It won't go against basic compatibility. The sixth-year book described one that can make you fall in love with animals and trees and such."

"Percy told me about that one," said Ron. "The guy who invented it fell in love with a fish, and drowned." He wrinkled his nose. "But it can't be any worse than falling in love with someone who doesn't love you back." They seeded plum tomatoes, weighed out preserved tadpoles on the polished brass balance, and pulverized rat teeth in their mortars. Murky dirt-colored liquids swirled in their cauldrons.

"We still don't have the capers," observed Hermione. She spotted the toad-green glass jar half hidden behind Crabbe's bulk. "I'll get them."

As she reached the bench Crabbe turned woeful eyes on her. "Hey, uh, could you help me?" he asked, rather tentatively.

"Why should I, after the way you keep trying to trip me?" demanded Hermione.

"Please," moaned Crabbe. "Snape's got it in for me after my mouse bit him last week."

"Oh, all right." Hermione peered into the cauldron, frowning. "How'd you get so much? This is twice as big as mine, at least."

"I know," said Crabbe mournfully. "I put in four tomatoes instead of two, then I had to, uh, double everything else and now there's no room for the hot passionfruit juice."

"Hmmm." Hermione peered under the table and hauled out a battered cauldron. "This one's bigger. Put the juice in here, then you can pour everything else on top." The cauldron wobbled on its thin copper bottom. "Here, I'd better hold it for you. Just be careful, all right?" Crabbe dumped in the juice, then gingerly lifted his brimming pot and began to pour. The boiling liquid splashed and foamed up to the rim.

"Ow!" Without thinking, Hermione popped her scalded fingers into her mouth. Crabbe looked at her, wide-eyed.

"You tasted it!" he exclaimed, in a hushed voice. "Now I'm going to fall in love with you!"

"No, you won't! " she hissed back. "It wasn't mixed properly, and you didn't put in your hair strand yet. Nothing will happen. Besides..."

"Hermione! Where are those capers?" called Ron.

"Just a minute!" She grabbed the jar, grimacing.

Crabbe turned back to his potion. Two coarse hairs floated to the top.

A few minutes later, Crabbe stopped by Hermione's table with a tube of salve and a fat roll of gauze. "No need," she said cheerfully, "Pomfrey'll fix it as good as new in a few minutes. Thanks, though."

Harry glowered at him. Why was Hermione bothering to be civil? "If you're going to try tripping one of us, you can do it somewhere else."

"But, but... " sputtered Crabbe, "can I at least look at your potion, Hermione? I want to see how it's supposed to turn out."

"Oh all right," Hermione conceded, "it's this one here. Yours will be fine, I think...Ow!" she cried again, as her hand brushed against the table.

"Are you sure you're all right?" asked Harry.

"I'm OK, but would you do another Painless charm?" She held out her hand, her eyes closed. Harry waved his wand over and under it. _"Nolo doleor - Remedium!"_

Suddenly suspicious, Ron slid around the table. "Crabbe! Did you just put something into Hermione's potion?" he asked accusingly.

"Who, me?" Crabbe said nervously, pushing open the dungeon door, which admitted a musty breeze.

Ron followed him into the hallway. "Where do you think you're going?" he demanded. "Answer my question!"

"Bathroom," shot back Crabbe over his broad shoulder.


	7. Messages, part 2

Disgusted, Ron returned to the classroom. Harry was peering into the potion, which was now turning pink as it cooled. "Did he put something in my cauldron?" asked Hermione, worriedly. She fished in it carefully with a long spoon. Nothing turned up.

Ron shrugged. "I thought he did. His hand was right there over it for a second." Now the potion was clearing and darkening into a thick, cherry-colored syrup. Hermione gave it another stir and a sniff, then did the same to the other two potions on the table. She shook her head. "They're all exactly the same, as far as I can tell."

"It looks fine to me," said Harry. "Whatever he put in didn't seem to hurt it. I doubt he's bright enough to know how to spoil it if he wanted to."

Ron scanned down the instruction scroll. "Are we ready to test it? We need another girl. Parvati?" he called. Hermione made a face, which Ron ignored. Parvati looked up from her cauldron and slides. "Want to test with us?" asked Ron. She shrugged.

"All right - what's another couple of pinpricks?" Harry waited for Hermione to read from the instruction scroll, as she usually did, but she seemed to be preoccupied with laying out the glass slides. Harry began to read aloud.

"For a group of four, label six glass slides with each combination of two subjects… apply a grease smear across the center of each slide… put two drops of each subject's blood on the slide ends so labeled, six drops in all…. For each slide, touch a loopful of each subject's potion to one opposing blood drop; observe and report the behavior of test and control drops." One by one, all over the classroom, students were grimacing and flinching as they pricked their fingers. Harry watched Snape stalking in and out among the benches, now wolfishly cheerful. Harry applied his blood drops and potion to the slides with his companions. They watched, fascinated, as the drops either sat stolidly or struggled toward each other, stalling at the grease smear.

"It must be a huge dose for that little bit of blood," mused Hermione. "I wonder what would happen if the two drops collided."

"Go ahead and try it," replied Ron. "Here, my finger's still dripping like a faucet."

Hermione picked up the slide with Ron and Harry's blood on it and turned it over onto a paper towel. "It wasn't doing anything anyway," she explained. She kneaded her finger and squeezed out a round drop. Ron matched it with a large splat, then she deftly added potion to each one. The drops surged together, touched and wobbled crazily before coalescing with a hard sizzle, which sent a puff of steam toward the ceiling. The glass slide twitched and shattered.

"Ugh!" exclaimed Ron, jumping backwards. Nothing was left of the droplets but a patch of brown scum, which shrank and cracked as it cooled. Hermione stared at it, repelled.

"Having fun, are we, Granger?" drawled Snape's soft voice behind her.

Hermione jumped at the sound. "But Professor, I was just…"

"...attempting a little in-de-pen-dent re-search." mocked Snape. "Well, do let me know if I have to alert the Institute of Potions." Hermione moved to clean up the slide, but Snape raised a long and wiry hand and grinned unpleasantly. "Don't stop now, Miss Granger; the thrill of discovery ought to be experienced again and again. Once your table has discovered how to make the droplets freeze, _then_ you may leave." He lifted a block of clean slides from his pocket and snapped them down on the table, then strode away as another crack and sizzle sounded from across the room.

"Freeze?" asked Hermione doubtfully. "Maybe two boys or two girls? Or only one potion? Oh, what if it doesn't work?"

Parvati sniffed. "It's not my problem. I'm out of here." She stepped back to her own bench and began her washing up.

Suddenly Harry chuckled. "We could get a couple of drops from Snape!"

"Right," replied Ron, "he already makes my blood run cold!"

"What's that he said about the Institute of Potions?" asked Harry.

"It's part of the Ministry of Magic," explained Hermione, "where they keep details of all the potions ever invented, and test any new ones that people develop."

"They regulate 'em too," put in Ron, "just like the Committee on Experimental Charms, and they control the ingredients for the ancient Dark Arts ones that are forbidden anyway…"

"As if anyone even had procedures for those," interrupted Hermione. "Now can we please finish this up?" She scribbled some notes and set out several of the slides. "Ready with the lancets? One, two three…Ouch!"

A few hours later, walking back from evening Quidditch practice with Harry, Ron was still sucking his finger where the needle had pricked it. "It stings," he said dolefully. "Every time I went to make a save it started bleeding again. I hope it doesn't do that in the Slytherin match."

"Mine's OK," said Harry, looking at his finger tip.

"I suppose mine is too, really," answered Ron after a pause and with a heavy sigh. "I mean, who am I kidding? I stank out there today. It wouldn't have made any difference I had three hands or none. I'll never be as good a keeper as Wood was and that's that." He thrust his hands deep inside his pockets and kicked fiercely at a clod of dirt along the path.

Harry wondered what to say. It was pointless to tell Ron that he was talking nonsense; he had missed several saves that his predecessor could easily have made. But there had also been times when the Quaffle had almost flown into his friend's hand, he had anticipated so well.

"You aren't as good as Oliver was – yet," he said finally. "But he was five years older than you. He _should_ have been better. You made some really good saves straight off. Just keep practicing, that's all."

"But suppose I practice and nothing happens?" asked Ron anxiously. "Suppose I can never get to be good enough? I'll have let you all down. And Charlie and Fred and George. And the Slytherins will win the cup and Malfoy will laugh and…"

"Let's play the match first!" interrupted Harry. "And you're talking rubbish! You're not letting anyone down and you won't. I voted for you to be on the team and it wasn't because you're my friend. At least you're not there because Daddy bought you a place!"

Ron relaxed slightly. "He couldn't afford to anyway!" he said with a forced smile. "You know, I can see what I want to do when the Quaffle comes but sometimes my body just doesn't follow."

"I'll practice with you if you like," offered Harry as they entered the Gryffindor common room. He dug in his pocket – yes, they were still there. "Look behind you!" he called to Ron urgently. Ron spun around instantly and of course, saw nothing. As he turned back, confused, Harry threw the last two ice mice at him as hard as he could.

"What?" exclaimed Ron, throwing up his hands. When he saw what he had caught, he flung them back at Harry, following with a walnut shell and a chocolate frog wrapper. A group of first-years studying near the window joined in with paper balls and soon the air was thick with missiles.

"Really, you two!" exclaimed Hermione. She looked up from her books in annoyance. "Who can study in here? I'm going to the library!" She hurriedly swept papers and notebooks into her bookbag and backed away toward the portrait hole, holding up her wand to ward off the barrage of paper balls and erasers that followed her. Just in time, Harry thought, as the Gryffindor prefect arrived at the bottom of the stairs, out of breath and out of patience.

"All right, people, let's get this mess cleaned up!"

It was a quarter hour before the common room was tidied to the prefect's satisfaction, but Ron was still cheerful at the end of it. One of Hermione's books had fallen to the floor, and Harry decided to take it up to her in the library, along with a Quidditch strategy manual that needed renewing. Hermione usually studied alone, so he was astonished to see her sitting with – of all people – Crabbe. Both of them bent over an assignment from History of Magic, intent on their work.

Harry paused to listen as the two continued their discussion, oblivious to his presence. Suspicion bubbled up in his mind as he ran over the events of the past few weeks – Crabbe shoving Hermione, tripping her, sneaking something into her potion… He was obviously up to something, but what could it be? Whatever Crabbe was planning, Harry concluded, would be bad news for Hermione. He had to be stopped. Harry chose an inconspicuous spot in the corner of the library where he could see their table, and propped up his own History book in front of his face, ready to spy. Half an hour later, he was on the point of giving up. If Crabbe was playacting, he was doing a good job of it. He was paying attention, trying his best to answer Hermione's questions, and actually appeared to be learning something. As for Hermione, she seemed unusually patient with his struggles, rewarding each correct answer with a compliment or smile.

The lights flickered, signaling that the library was closing. Crabbe picked up Hermione's books as they rose from the table, offering to carry them for her. To Harry's relief, she refused – but then allowed Crabbe to pile them in her arms. Keeping some distance back, Harry followed them down the corridor, noticing how Crabbe stayed next to Hermione – as near as he could get, thought Harry crossly, what _is_ he going to do, is he actually trying to pay her a compliment? Rather hesitantly, Crabbe was telling her that he had always liked her crinkly hair, and asking if she ever wore it in braids. Harry rolled his eyes. Enough was enough, he concluded, and quickened his pace.

Crabbe paused at the stairway leading down to the Slytherin dormitory. "Hermione, would you mind awfully if we studied together tomorrow for Defense? I can't figure out the connections between Grindelwald and those Muggles, the Nazis. His voice cracked awkwardly and he cleared his throat. "And Draco keeps needling me about it," he finished lamely.

Hermione shrugged her shoulders. "Sure," she said, "I'd be glad to, once I finish that essay for Snape. Honestly, I still can't figure out why anyone would want to take an intelligence potion."

"You really don't know, do you?" said Crabbe wonderingly. "And you're the smartest girl I ever met."

"It's not easy, trying to be smart all the time," replied Hermione softly.

Crabbe looked into her eyes. "It's even harder being dumb like me. Y'know, I'd take a potion like that in a minute if I could be as smart as you. If I had to give up something…" he shrugged, "fair trade, I guess." The words rushed out of him. "I want to say I'm sorry I tripped you the other day, really, I am. It's because I was jealous, and…and I was showing off for Draco."

"Don't worry about it, Vince. No harm done."

"Hermione? I really, um, admire you, y'know? I always knew you were smart but I never realized you were, so kind and, well, generous with your time too." Hearing Harry's footsteps, he looked up. "I have to go. Thanks again."

Hermione was still gazing down the stairwell, her eyes narrowed in thought, when Harry caught up with her. "You left this in the common room," he said, handing her the book. "I brought it up for you, but you looked like you didn't want to be disturbed."

She brightened, and they moved off together. "Thanks."

"If you don't mind me asking, what's the story with Crabbe?" he asked. "After all the nasty things he's done, I don't trust the guy."

Hermione wrinkled her nose. "Good grief, Harry, he just needed a little coaching. Don't be so suspicious."

Harry was still suspicious as he buttoned his pajamas. "Ron," he called, "what did you make of Crabbe in Potions today?"

"Yeah, that was strange," replied his friend. "There was something about the way he hung around Hermione's potion. He was hiding something, I know it."

"Did you see anything in his hands when he was at our table?"

"Only those bandages." Ron shook his head. "I don't get it. I was sure he did something to the potion, but he couldn't have, because it worked fine." He started to walk away.

"Suppose whatever he had was hidden in the bandages," continued Harry tentatively. "Where did he disappear to?"

"The bathroom," replied Ron. He paused, remembering. "And he didn't have them when he came back." They looked at each other, and both reached for their wands.

"I'll get the cloak," said Harry.

In the dormitory stairway they arranged the cloak over both of them and crossed the Gryffindor common room. No one noticed them slip through the portrait hole and into the dimly lit hallway. They hurried along the long hallway and down the stairway to the dungeons. "Careful," warned Ron, "What if Snape's in his office?"

"He'll have the light on, won't he? We'll see him before he sees us," replied Harry. They passed the dark office, but saw up ahead the laboratory spilling light into the hallway from the crack under the door. Peeves's glowing feet stuck out of the door, but his cackle still made them jump.

"Working late, ducky? Is it tasty-licious yet? Snape the ape, slipped on a grape, patched 'im up with Spellotape! Har, har har har!"

"Be off!" Snape's initial roar was broken by a deep, retching cough. "…or I'll have the Baron after you," he finished in strangled tones.

"Oooh, is it threats now, ducky? Nyah, nyah, can't catch Peevsie!" The two boys ducked as Peeves darted, luminous, over their heads, swimming froglike through the air and snickering to himself. When they were quite sure he was gone, they tiptoed down the hall into the boys' bathroom and closed the door behind them. Feeling their way to the paper towel dispenser, they pulled out handfuls and stuffed them under the door. Only then did they light their wands.

"We're in luck!" breathed Ron. "Filch hasn't been here yet." A quick look inside the dustbin revealed nothing, so they tipped the contents onto the floor. Luckily there was not much. Working as fast as they could, they sorted through the bits of rubbish. "Aha!" Ron thrust a wadded up towel at Harry. A faint but unmistakable odor of potion rose from it. They moved it to a sink and unwrapped it slowly. Inside lay the roll of bandages, pink-tinted and still moist.

" _This_ is what he put in the potion?" asked Ron, shaking his head. "That wouldn't do anything to it…would it?"

"Look how it's squished up," Harry pointed out. "And those creases look exactly like teeth marks. He didn't put anything into the potion – he took some out, Ron, enough to soak the bandage!"

"And came here, and chewed the bandage? Obviously, he did, but it's crazy!" Ron burst out. "Why would he take Hermione's potion? He'll fall in love with her."

Harry thought back to the library. "Don't ask me why he'd want to do that, but I think he already has. What are we going to tell Hermione?"

"Everything," said Ron firmly. "Though I don't expect her to believe it."

Harry poked the bandage. "Even with evidence?"

Ron shook his head. "We can't take this with us. If we get caught with it on the way back…" He drew his finger across his neck. "Snape'll think we did it."


	8. Messages, part 3

Alone again, thought Harry, sticking a Ghost-it note into his Shakespeare book. Whatever happened to studying together as we used to do? If Hermione wasn't in class, she was busy tutoring Crabbe. Ron's little lecture on Crabbe's bandage trick had made no impression at all on her. And Ron himself was probably at Takushiki's office again. Since the first day, he had made a habit of attending all the office hours for Defense against the Dark Arts. Not that there weren't rewards – a bowl of Chocolate Frogs was always on her desk, and it was in one of those that Ron had finally found the Agrippa card that completed his collection of Famous Witches and Wizards. He reopened the book, found his lines and began again.

"I pray thee, good Mercutio, let's retire…"

The portrait hole opened, and Fred and George stumbled in, weak with laughter. "Harry – hee hee – you've got to see this!" They dragged him to the window and pushed it open. Two stories down Ron stood on the grass, his hands outstretched to an imaginary listener. They could hear him plainly.

" _It was the lark, the herald of the morn,_

 _No nightingale: Look, love, what envious streaks_

 _Do lace the severing clouds in yonder east:_

 _Night's candles are burnt out, and… and…"_

"Jocund day," said Lavender wearily, from five feet behind him. "Never mind memorizing it, we'll all have our books for the reading."

George fell back from the window, breathless with mirth. "Listen to his voice – he means every word of it! He really thinks he's Romeo!"

Fred clapped him on the shoulder. "Yes, but who's his Juliet? Va-va-va-voom!"

"Leave him alone," Harry broke in. "You don't know when to stop, do you? Can't you see how serious he is about this class? Go find someone else to pick on. Booby-trap the Slytherin dorm, if you want a challenge."

The twins broke into fresh laughter. "No sooner said than done, old boy! Come on George, where shall we start?"

As they bounded up the stairs, Harry pulled the window closed. Tiresome as they were, the twins had a point – Ron didn't sound himself. Maybe he was working too hard after all. He finally had a chance to talk to Ron on the way to Quidditch practice. "What's with all the rehearsing?" he asked. "It's a reading, not a performance. Besides, you're brilliant in that class. Why knock yourself out, especially when we have history papers due?"

"It's - interesting, that's all," replied Ron, slipping his hands into his pockets. "It's a lot like the stuff my dad deals with at the Ministry. Did you know that most of the problem magic they handle isn't Dark Arts after all? Just ordinary people doing dumb things, because they're angry at someone or think they're in love. Look, do you want to work on History together tonight after practice?"

Harry shook his head. "Tomorrow, maybe? Tonight I've got, ah, something else to do."

The Quidditch pitch was deserted except for Harry when Cho flew up on her stubby Swallowtail, waving cheerily. With the Firebolt under him and Cho coaching him, no move seemed too difficult or dangerous. They finished with a hands-linked spinning climb that wound them up far into the sky. Below them the castle and its grounds lay sleeping in the deep twilight, and a huge yellow moon rose to the east. "Let's take a turn around the castle before we go in," suggested Harry as they glided back to the ground.

"It's after hours, or soon will be," Cho pointed out. "What if someone sees us?"

"They won't." Harry pulled the invisibility cloak out of his bag. They stacked the two brooms on top of each other and Cho climbed on behind Harry, arranging the cloak over both of them.

Cho pointed at a brightly lit window. "Look, is that the Headmaster's office?" In answer Harry swept down for a look. Dumbledore and the four House heads were seated around his office table. Their voices carried clearly into the night air where Harry and Cho hovered outside the window.

"She clearly has the gift," Dumbledore was saying, "and all my doubts vanished when she gave me the first message, that could have come from none other than Nicolas Flamel himself."

"What happened then?" asked McGonagall.

"She interviewed the girl Percy Weasley's been investigating. I'm afraid the news is very bad. She wasn't a suicide after all – she was murdered. Someone tied her up with wand-rope and put a death-sleep spell on her." A look of horror passed across the other faces in the room, and he paused.

"Harry?" whispered Cho, "this is scary. Let's go."

"Shh - Not just now. I know something about this. Just another minute or two," Harry whispered back.

Dumbledore continued. "Apparently she saw two wizards – one tall, dark-haired, thin and pale, with a high, mocking laugh…"

Sinistra raised his hands. "Ahh – Sirius Black, of course!"

Dumbledore shook his head. "The physical description applies, but the laugh? Black was a great laugher, yes, but always a deep belly laugh. Am I right, Severus?"

All eyes turned to Snape, who looked discomfited. "I heard that laugh enough times as a boy that I'll never forget it. The Headmaster is right – it could not be Black."

McGonagall paled. "Then it must be…You-know-who."

"Voldemort," said Dumbledore firmly. They all looked at him silently. "He is embodied once more." Behind Harry, Cho shivered.

"What about the other one?" asked McGonagall.

"Short, balding, shabby, mousy-looking." One by one, they all shook their heads.

Harry shivered with excitement. "I know who that is!" he hissed to Cho. She pounded his shoulder, her voice urgent.

"Please, Harry – they'll hear you! Let's get out of here!"

Suddenly Snape's head turned and he looked straight at Harry. "Someone's out there!" he exclaimed. In a moment he and Dumbledore were at the window – then outside the window, levitating. Their wands glared like searchlights as they peered into the night. Harry backed away silently, around the corner of the castle, and landed the brooms under a thick cluster of bushes. Above them Dumbledore drifted slowly downward, dragging his wand-beam toward them along the castle's foundation.

Hurriedly Harry adjusted the cloak. "Whatever you do, don't move!" he told Cho breathlessly. He felt for her hand and squeezed it, feeling it cold and trembling.

The light-beam moved closer to them and finally stopped directly over them, bathing them in dazzle. Cho gasped. "I don't see anything here, Severus," called Dumbledore calmly.

"Nor I, Headmaster." The lights vanished, and as Harry's eyes adjusted to the dark, he saw them both float back into the office window.

He turned back to Cho. She bravely gave him the thumbs-up sign and, wiping the tears from her face, managed a weak smile. His arms went around her and she buried her face in his shoulder, hugging him back. It seemed a very long time before he felt her relax and lift her head. Opening his eyes, he looked into her moonlit face, relieved to see that her usual perky grin had returned. "Ready to go?" he whispered. She nodded, and they crept out from beneath the bushes and sprinted away. By the time they strolled up to the main door, the cloak was safely stowed in Harry's bag.

They paused at the entrance to the Great Hall. "Can I walk you over to Ravenclaw?" asked Harry. Cho shook her head.

"Let's practice again in a couple of days," she suggested. "But no more sneaking around outside staff meetings, OK? I don't want to get in trouble."

"I'm sorry," said Harry apologetically. "I never meant to frighten you."

"I know," said Cho. She squeezed his hand, and brushed her lips against his cheek. "'Bye!"

She was halfway down the corridor when Harry recovered from his surprise. A warm glow filled his chest, and a broad grin spread across his face. They were still in place when he fell asleep that night.

The next Saturday morning Harry and his friends stopped off at Hagrid's on their way to Hogsmeade. Rodney galloped out from the front garden to meet them, kicking up his heels like a colt and jumping over every bush he could find.

"Is Hagrid in?" Harry asked.

"In the back," said Rodney. "We're harvesting pumpkins, and one will be all mine!" He leapt over the dry wall and took off along the side of the hut. In the back, Hagrid was lifting pumpkins as big as himself onto an enormous tarpaulin.

"That ought ter do it!" Hagrid drew his sleeve across his broad forehead, and reached for his pink umbrella. As he raised it, the tarp full of pumpkins rose into the air and turned, gliding majestically over the garden. Suddenly he caught sight of his guests. With a wave, he brought the load carefully to rest again, leaning the umbrella against one of the pumpkins.

"Hagrid, there's dirt on your face," called Rodney.

"Never min' that," replied Hagrid cheerfully. He wiped his forehead again, leaving another smear. Rodney giggled.

"You look busy, Hagrid – is this a good time to stop by?" asked Hermione.

"Sure," boomed the giant. He settled himself on a stone by the fence. "Hallowe'en's coming, so there's a fair bit to do, but at least it's all here at home."

"How's London these days? asked Ron. "Have you heard from Percy and my father?"

Hagrid shook his head. "Yer dad's fine, if he'd leave off jawin' abou' his computer, but th' London neighborhood is kind o' creepy these days. I don't care fer the gossip I heard. People are on edge, an' there's weird, dangerous looking folk hanging aroun' everywhere."

"Weirder than your card-playing friends at Hogsmeade?" asked Hermione.

"Oh them," said Hagrid, "they can't help bein' who they are, and they don't mean no harm. That's more than can be said for some o' th' folks in Knockturn Alley."

"Like who?" asked Harry.

"Like never you mind," Hagrid shot back. Then his expression softened. "Ar, what's th' use of keepin' it from yeh, Harry – 'twas Lucius Malfoy. Bold as brass too. Usually he sticks tight with his own kind, but I near' had ter pull him off Professor Snape, there in th' apothecary's. White as a sheet, Snape was. Then Malfoy tried to chat me up and buy me a pint at the Hag's Head. As if I'd sit at the same table wi' him after what he did ter Buckbeak. Mark my words, he's up ter something."

"What's the Hag's Head?" asked Ron eagerly.

"It's a dark, dreadful kind o' place," said Hagrid with a shudder. "The Landlady's a kind o' Hag, and there's a bunch of old crones always muttering and grumbling in th' back. One o' the reg'lars looks like she's got some werewolf in her…"

"I'm going to see it when I get a chance !" exclaimed Harry.

"They don't like young people in there," answered Hagrid grimly, shaking his head. "It's not like Rosmerta's where everyone's frien'ly an' pleasant and treats yer like an equal...except fer that gorgon, o' course..."

"Gorgon?" asked Harry.

"Yeh saw her at Hogsmeade, t'other day. Bag on 'er head." He pulled a face. "They don't call her Medusa for nothing." Suddenly he brightened. "Speakin' o' Bucky, look at th' note I got from him."

"A note from Buckbeak? Let's see." asked Hermione, passing the note to Harry. The note was unsigned, but he recognized Sirius's handwriting.

"I'd know that clawprint anywhere. Whoever sent it said he's doing fine. You kids know anything abou' that?" He looked at them suspiciously from under his bushy eyebrows.

The three exchanged glances. "No, Hagrid," said Harry after a pause, "we've no idea where Buckbeak could be. But it's good to know he's OK." Hagrid stared a moment longer, but seeing that he was getting nowhere, changed the subject.

"Oh, by th' way, Ron, I saw yer brother Percy t'other day outside th'apothecary's."

Ron nearly choked. "In Knockturn Alley?"

Hagrid threw back his head and laughed. "No, th'one next ter th' Rabbit-hole. He said he'll come up soon wi' some things for Dumbledore, and he sends yer his - now what'd he say - affectionate regards."

Ron chuckled. "That's Percy all right. Just the same, I'll be glad to see him."

Harry adjusted his hat and leaned back in his chair. All around the Great Hall Hagrid's pumpkins grinned or scowled, lit from the inside with magical candles. As the last of the dishes floated off toward the kitchen, Dumbledore stood and led a round of applause for the kitchen staff. When the noise had died away, he introduced Professor Sprout.

"Now then!" she declaimed cheerfully. "It's a magical night, and to bring a bit o' the magical spirit to Hogwarts I am pleased to announce – the First Hogwarts Hallowe'en Variety Show! She jabbed her wand at the highest point of the ceiling, where a crescent moon floated above ghostly clouds. A shower of brilliant sparks burst from the top of the hall, resolving into hundreds of golden, winged apples which settled gently on the tablecloths, emanating a heavenly fragrance. Of course everyone wanted to pick them up - but as soon as each one was touched, it turned into a handful of flowers. Flitwick was next; climbing on a chair, he raised his arms, filling the hall with colorful paper butterflies that dipped and fluttered around the heads of the audience. Just as they vanished, with a tinkling like bells, Cho swept in on her Swallowtail and performed a brief exhibition of aerobatic stunts to thunderous applause.

As Cho took her final bow, Prof. Takushiki rose from the staff table. A moment later Sinistra joined her in the center of the Hall. What are they going to do?" asked Ron, fascinated. "Do you think it's a duelling exhibition?"

The two teachers faced each other, extending their wands. They touched wands once – twice – and on the third tap a blinding flash of light enveloped them both. When the dazzle cleared they were both wearing evening clothes – Sinistra a tailcoat and Takushiki a close-fitting blue gown which sparkled richly in the candlelight. "Oooh," breathed the crowd. An invisible orchestra began to play, and they moved into the steps of a tango.

Harry watched, feeling himself drawn into the spell of the dance. There was a magic to it, which blended the exhilaration of flying with the harmony of an old and treasured friendship. Had his parents ever danced like that? he wondered. Could he, too, learn to create this remarkable magic without wands or charms?

All too soon, the music stopped and the dancers took a bow. The crowd burst into applause and cheers. As the music began again, a simple two-step, both dancers moved to the staff table and chose a new partner. Chuckles burst out from the assembled students as Hecate extended her hand to Dumbledore and Madam Hooch vaulted over the table to join Sinistra. "What's that all about?" asked Harry.

Hermione giggled. "Just watch – in a minute they'll do the same thing again." She was right; after a few bars, each pair of dancers bowed and went off again in search of a new partner. This time, Hecate chose Filch, whose impossibly broad grin could be seen across the room. "Look at Flitwick!" chuckled Hermione. Standing tiptoe on his chair, the tiny wizard waved his wand and the center of the Hall expanded, like ripples on a pond, into a spacious dance floor. He extended his hand to Sprout, and the two of them sailed into the middle of the room, beginning their steps before they touched the ground.

All over the Great Hall, couples streamed onto the floor. "Look, there's Nick!" Harry pointed to a spot where the Gryffindor ghost and the Grey Lady circled each other in a formal pavane. Behind them, or rather through them, he could see Draco Malfoy leading Pansy Parkinson expertly through a complicated series of steps.

"Right!" said Hermione. "And look at the painting!" All of the portraits in Hogwarts were crowded into a large frame over the staff table, watching and pointing. Out of the corner of his eye Harry glimpsed old Prof. Binns bowing to Moaning Myrtle, who floated in front of a pumpkin. She goggled her moist eyes at him and almost smiled. Suddenly Hermione waved to someone across the room. "See you later!" she exclaimed to Harry and Ron, and vanished into the crowd.

Harry looked up and down the tables to where Cho's broomstick poked out among mounds of chrysanthemums. Behind it Cho appeared to be scanning the room as well. Harry caught her eye and was rewarded with a smile. Working up his courage, he crossed the room to her and took her hand. "Would you like to dance?" he asked.

"Do you know how?" asked Cho.

"No," he admitted, hoping that honesty was the best policy.

She giggled. "Neither do I, but it looks pretty easy. I've been watching." She moved her feet back and forth – step-close, step-close. "See? They do this and slowly turn in circles."

"How about showing me on the dance floor?" said Harry. He led her to an empty spot, then took her in his arms. She felt very warm and soft, and almost frighteningly near. Embarrassed, he hesitated, but Cho started to sway in time to the music. He willed his feet to move, and watched them: step-close, step-close, parallel to hers. After a few false starts, he got the hang of it and began to relax. All too soon the music ended.

"That was fun!" he said hopefully, "Wasn't it?"

"Yes, and good exercise!" answered Cho brightly. "Ooh, I'd better go and check where my broom's got to."

"Neville's waltzing with it," said Ron, coming up to Harry as Cho sped off. "Harry, did you see where Hecate, I mean Professor Takushiki, was?"

"Dancing with Professor Flitwick, I think," replied Harry, scanning the floor, where Fred and George were performing a vigorous rumba in flat defiance of the music. "Why?"

"Um...I'm going to ask her to dance with me next," said Ron, his face going bright red.

"You're _what_? You can't dance!" exclaimed his friend. "And she's a teacher! Ask Ginny!"

"I am NOT dancing with my little sister!" snapped Ron. "Quick, there she is, she's walking off the floor!"

"Why do I have to come?" said Harry as Ron grabbed his arm and began to march him across the Great Hall, narrowly avoiding Nick's spinning head.

"You knew her before I did," replied Ron. "And I'm not going to ask her myself, am I? You just say "Do you want to dance, Miss?" and when she says "Yes", say "Well, my friend would like to dance with you!" And if she says "No", then...

"I'm the one who looks like the idiot!" finished Harry. "Great!"

They had arrived at the teachers' table now, just behind Takushiki and Flitwick. Professor Vector and Madam Pomfrey were giving them a round of applause.

"Ooh, I haven't had so much fun since I used to go waltzing at the old Dervish Dancehall at Brighton!" Flitwick was exclaiming. "Thank you, dear! I'm just sorry I couldn't keep up with you! You need a taller partner to dance properly!"

"No problem!" Hecate laughed. "I'll just ask Hesperos again...Oh, he's partnering Minerva now! I'll sit this one out."

"Then, Sylvia," cried Flitwick, sticking a rose from a table decoration between his teeth, "prepare to be twirled!" He seized Prof. Sprout by the hand and plunged back into the throng as a pasa doble began.

"Ask her now!" Ron whispered to Harry, poking him in the back.

"OK, OK," Harry hissed back. "Uh, Ron...what are you standing on your toes for?"

He took a deep breath. But before he could speak, Hypatia Vector leant over the table to Hecate and grinned.

"Well," she murmured, " there _is_ someone your height who's not dancing. Ask _him_!"

Hecate, Ron and Harry followed her nodding head down to the other end of the table where Professor Snape was sitting alone, Filch having somehow become involved in Hagrid's two-man assault on the summit of the highland reel.

"Oh, WHAT?" Ron whispered in despair.

"I dare you!" said Professor Vector, her eyes gleaming.

Hecate grinned and shrugged. Then she stood up and began to walk along the table length.

"Quick, stand on her dress!" Ron hissed to Harry as they shuffled after her.

"Like he's going to say yes!" Harry scoffed back.

"Of course Snape'll say yes, who wouldn't want to dance with her?" Ron muttered. "Go and get Hermione, maybe she can set fire to his robes again..."

Harry kicked Ron on the ankle. Ahead of them, Hecate had stopped by Snape and was holding her hand out with a smile.

"Professor Snape, you don't look like you're having fun - since I started this would you like to dance with me?" she asked.

Snape jumped slightly at the sound of her voice and looked up at her blankly.

"Thank you, Miss Takushiki," he replied stiffly. "But I'm not dancing."

"Neither are most of the people out there on the floor, really, but it's still fun!" said Hecate gently, her hand still outstretched. "Go on, you might enjoy it."

Snape stared back at her and there was a long pause.

"He IS going to say yes!" hissed Ron in despair. "Oh, why did I let you come along, you're useless!"

But just then, Hypatia pushed past them with a smirk on her face and looked over Hecate's shoulder.

"Yes, go on Severus, don't be such a misery guts, show a leg!" she sniggered, twirling her wand in her fingers. "Let's make him, Hecate, you must know a dancing charm," She leant forward and caught hold of Snape's arm as if to pull him out of his seat.

Snape stood up very suddenly. "I see," he snapped. "So that's how it is. Good night!" Angrily, he stalked away toward the door.

Hypatia burst out laughing. "That was priceless!" she giggled. "Did you see the look on his face? Oh, what would you have done if he'd said 'yes'?"

"Danced with him of course, that's what I was asking him," said Hecate, sounding slightly exasperated. "Rats! I don't need another reason to fall out with him. I'd better explain..."

But Hypatia was turning away. "Poppy!" she called to Madam Pomfrey. "Hecate and I have just got a real rise out of old Snape..."

Hecate shook her head and went to the door.

"I guess that's our cue, then," sighed Harry as Ron marched after her.

"Professor Snape!" they heard Hecate call as they reached the corridor outside. "Wait a minute, please! I'm sorry if you got the wrong impression; I was being serious for once, sort of... It was just a bit of joshing..."

Snape was halfway down the corridor; at Hecate's words he walked slowly back.

"Miss Takushiki," he said quietly, "Do I strike you in any way, shape or form, as 'joshable'?"

"I don't know, when were you last joshed?" laughed Hecate. Her smile faded as Snape did not reply.

"Oh, well," she continued. "If you don't want to, fair enough – I just wanted you to know, I was asking you for real. But it's your choice of course."

She turned and went back into the hall as Ron and Harry dodged behind a suit of armour.

For a moment, Snape paused in the deserted corridor. Echoes of dance music and laughter diffused through the wall. Then he sniffed and turned away.


	9. Messages, part 4

Harry awoke the next morning to the sight of George standing over his bed, ripping off his blankets, while Fred shook Ron awake. "Up and at 'em, boys!" cried Fred. "Alicia sent us to wake you for breakfast. She wants to talk strategy once more before the match." Harry groaned and yawned. "None of that now, we need you downstairs in ten minutes. Besides, you boys have a visitor from the Ministry."

Where do they get their energy? wondered Harry. He felt still tired from the night before. The dancing had turned into a full-fledged ball during which he had danced with Cho again several times, with Ginny, in some incomprehensible line dance that took all of his concentration, and with all three chasers from the Gryffindor Quidditch team. He remembered ruefully Madam Hooch's yelp when he trod on her toes; that had been just before Fred and George had taken charge of him and tried to teach him to polka. It had just begun to make sense when Dumbledore had declared the feast over and sent them all off to bed.

Harry glanced at Ron, who looked very chipper and happy. "Stop whistling, Ron," he called. "You're getting on my nerves."

"Oh, don't be such a grouch," replied Ron good-naturedly. He rummaged through his trunk for a tee shirt. "It's a beautiful morning for Quidditch. Come on, get up."

"I think I preferred you depressed!" muttered Harry to himself but slowly he dragged himself upright and pulled on his clothes. A moment later he was glad he had, for the door burst open and Hagrid bounded into the room, followed by Percy and Arthur Weasley.

"Hey, Ron, here's a present fer yeh," boomed Hagrid.

"Dad!" cried Ron. "I didn't know you were coming!"

"Percy's got a meeting with your Headmaster later," said Mr Weasley, grinning at his son. " so we thought we'd see some Quidditch as well. Your mother sends her love and a lot of questions about socks and vests but we'll forget about those. Hello, Harry. Looking forward to the match?"

"Always do when it's Slytherin," smiled Harry. "Make sure you cheer us on!"

"Well, I'm afraid that as ministry officials, we won't actually be able to take sides, Harry" said Percy solemnly, coming forward to shake Harry's hand "although…"

"Oh, rubbish, with three of your own brothers playing?" interrupted Mr. Weasley. "Ron, we're so proud of you!"

Ron blushed and grinned. "We'd better get going," he said.

We need all the cheers we can get, Harry thought to himself as he circled the pitch an hour later, waiting for the starting whistle. The Slytherin team looked larger and stronger and altogether as menacing as he had ever seen them. Below him, Lee Jordan was starting his commentary.

"A few new faces on both sides this year" he was saying. "For Gryffindor, we have another Weasley wonder-kid, that's Ron, as Keeper, following in his brothers' footsteps. And their captain this year is an old face, Alicia Spinnet, a very pretty old face, I should say..."

"Lee!" hissed Professor McGonagall beside him.

"Just being polite, Professor! And for Slytherin, we welcome back Havelock Montague, their new captain – don't worry, Professor, I won't call him a pretty face – and their new chaser, Millicent Bulstrode; and I definitely won't be calling _her_ a …"

The megaphone went dead for a few seconds.

"Just a little technical hitch there, folks!" piped up Lee. "Must be almost time for the whistle!"

Harry flew down to where Ron was waiting by the goalposts and gave him a thumbs-up. Draco Malfoy and Millicent Bulstrode floated past as he did so; Harry noticed with a shock that Draco was now riding a Firebolt too. That was one advantage he had lost immediately. Draco caught his eye and smirked.

"I'll give you a tip, Millie," he said loudly. "if you want to get past Weasley, just throw him a few Knuts. He'll be so busy picking them up, he won't have time to defend!

Harry put a warning hand on Ron's arm; Madam Hooch raised her whistle to her lips and with a blast and a cheer from the crowd the game began. "And they're off!" cried Jordan.

It was obvious within the first few minutes that this was to be no easy match. Montague had done his homework; Ron was Gryffindor's weakest spot and Angelina Johnson their strongest, apart from Harry. The Slytherin beaters were concentrating on boxing her in and restricting her movements. That should have left Katie and Alicia free to score, but Millicent Bulstrode was proving surprisingly effective at taking the Quaffle from them and passing it swiftly to Montague and Warrington. Ron did his best to defend but his inexperience was showing. Time and again one of the Slytherin chasers drew him to one side of the goal before quickly passing to the other, who sent the Quaffle whistling past the keeper's ear. The score, despite Angelina's efforts, was beginning to mount in Slytherin's favour; 40/40, then 60, 80, 120/40.

Even at a distance and looking for the snitch, Harry could see that Fred and George were becoming frustrated. Finally George swung his bat and sent a bludger straight at Millicent. It hit her full in the stomach and the Slytherin supporters' cheers turned to howls of outrage. Madam Hooch swiftly awarded a penalty and in a moment, Slytherin were even further ahead.

Alicia called a time-out as Montague and his team crowded round to congratulate Millicent on her goal.

"Calm down, that isn't going to get us anywhere" she hissed at the Beaters. "We need to defend, not commit fouls." She glanced at Ron, still anxiously circling the posts. "Give the Keeper more support, this isn't an ideal first match for him. Harry, for goodness sake, grab that Snitch!" She motioned everyone back into position as play resumed.

Harry flew around the Slytherin end of the pitch, one eye open for the Snitch, the other on Draco who was at the opposite extreme. Below him there was a cheer as Ron, urged on by George, managed to save a long curling throw from Montague.

We can still win this, he told himself, scanning the skies, when suddenly he caught a gleam far below him in the long grass by the Gryffindor goalposts, almost directly under the Slytherin seeker. Draco hadn't seen it; he was too busy shouting encouragement to Millicent, who seemed to have Katie in an armlock. The rest of the teams had crowded round.

"Well," Lee Jordan was saying, "There are over 700 ways to commit a foul in Quidditch! Keep an eye on the Green team, people, for a practical demonstration!"

If I go straight for it, Draco'll see the Snitch and grab it, Harry said to himself – I have to draw him away. He shot forward over the knot of struggling players and the Snitch itself. Draco swung his broom up to intercept, a panicky look on his face.

In his mind's eye, Harry could see the little gold ball just behind and below him. He drove his broomstick straight at Draco, making him gasp and dodge and then, just as Cho had shown him, he flipped over backwards, barrelled round, and in an instant was under the knot of players, chasing the Snitch. The crowd gasped and cheered and Lee cried, "It's showtime!" Draco swung his own broom round and followed, the new Firebolt easily keeping up.

Now the two of them were little more than three feet above the ground, Harry barely in front of Draco, and the fleeing Snitch hardly any way in front of them. Draco leant forward, and for a moment Harry thought he was going to catch the Snitch, but instead he drove his shoulder full into his opponent. Harry kept his balance and forced his broom ahead. Again Draco accelerated and rode into him. Harry clutched at his glasses; another shove might force him off and the blurred grass underneath him was making his head spin. It was time for another of Cho's tricks. As Draco swerved to strike him for the third time, he rolled away and upside down. Now the snitch seemed to be above him and he scooped it up with a cry of relief. Skyward, at his feet, he saw Draco's mouth open wide with surprise as the force of his own shove carried him over. He flailed wildly, catching his toe on the pitch. The Firebolt drove into the ground and Draco flew off, somersaulting across the grass until he came to a stop in a heap.

For a heartstopping moment he lay still. Then, as the boos of the Slytherin crowd rang in Harry's ears, Draco staggered to his feet and shook his head. Madam Hooch landed next to him and put her arm round his shoulders.

"We win!" cried Alicia as the rest of the Gryffindor team crowded round and saw the Snitch still grasped in Harry's hand.

Madam Hooch came up to them talking to Montague. "No bones broken," she was saying cheerfully. "And, no, Montague, he wasn't fouled. It's a Gryffindor win."

Montague scowled. "Are you telling me that that ... _poncing around..._ is legal on a Quidditch pitch?" he spat, glaring at Harry.

"Oh, give up, Montague," bellowed Lee, who had come over to congratulate Fred and George.

Cho Chang suddenly materialised and grabbed Harry around the waist. "You were great!" she said. "I can't believe you did a backflip during a match. I've never dared do that!"

"But it was all right to do that, wasn't it?" Harry asked her anxiously. Madam Hooch and Montague were still arguing over a copy of Quidditch: Rules and Regulations.

"You won, didn't you?" Cho shrugged, puzzled.

Ron thumped Harry on the back. "Well done!" they chorused to each other. Harry looked back to Montague.

"The player's body must remain in contact with the broom at all times," Madam Hooch read out. "It doesn't say which way up he has to be! Sorry, Montague, Gryffindor wins."

Snape swept up to them, his face tense and angry. "It appears we've lost, Professor," Montague told him, tight lipped.

"He didn't break any rules!" Lee yelled at him. "Sore loser!"

Montague shrugged. "No rules maybe. There is such a thing as the _spirit_ of the game, though. Well, if he thinks it was honourable; as a Gryffindor…" He gave Harry a last hard look and stalked off with the rest of his team.

Harry was left with a faint sour taste in his mouth, not improved when Hermione suddenly appeared with Crabbe at her side.

"Great!" said Hermione, hugging him.

Crabbe suddenly stuck out a large red hand. After a moment's hesitation, Harry took it warily, one eye on Professor McGonagall who had joined the crowd around them.

"Well done!" said Crabbe abruptly, and shook his hand.

"Um… same to Millicent," replied Harry bewildered as the two left. He and Ron raised their eyebrows.

"Harry! Ron!" Mr. Weasley rushed over. "You were both wonderful!"

"I let a few in early on, didn't I though, Dad?" said Ron anxiously.

"That's the way the match was going. You made a fair few more than Wood did in his first match!" replied his father fondly. "Now let's find Percy and walk along with him. It's time for his meeting with Dumbledore!"

Hermione, now Crabbe-less, joined the group on their way up to Dumbledore's office. Ahead of them, Filch and Hagrid deposited a huge box in the center of Dumbledore's desk. Percy broke the seal with its Ministry stamp and lifted off the top. It was filled with papers.

"Everything you asked for, sir," announced Percy proudly. "We've pulled out all the records since last June, both from our offices and from our counterparts in Europe."

"Are you sure you want _all_ of these, Professor?" asked Mr. Weasley, doubtfully. "Really, there are thousands. If you had come to London we could have done this for you very quickly. We installed our first computer last week, and Perkins has just started, ah, scanning these things into a database."

Percy rolled his eyes. "Father is a great partisan of Muggle technology," he explained as Dumbledore tried to hide a smile.

"Oh, Percy," said Arthur, "if you tried it I'm sure you'd like it. It's very much like magic, you know."

Fred nudged George. "There goes Dad, acting like a Squib again," he whispered.

George nudged him back. "There goes Percy, acting like a Head Boy again."

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "No need for any of that, gentlemen; I'll sort them with my wand." He pointed it. The papers surged out of the box, reshuffled themselves in the air, then settled neatly into piles on his desk as the box floated past them into the corridor.

Arthur's face fell. "When can you have them back to us?" he asked.

"A week or two at the outside," replied Dumbledore. "Now – Did Minister Fudge receive my owl last week? And the one two weeks before that?"

Arthur nodded slowly. "He asked me to tell you that the governors are quite disturbed about it. This is a very awkward time for you to announce your retirement, what with so many things going on at the Ministry."

The bottom dropped out of Harry's stomach. It can't be! he thought in dismay. How could he do this to us – to the whole school? Ron and Hermione stared at the Headmaster, stunned. Even Percy looked uncomfortable. Dumbledore looked down at them kindly. "I'm sorry you had to find out like this," he said, "but it's true, I've made up my mind. A couple of old friends talked me into it. Really, it's about time. I'll do a little traveling, take care of some personal business, and settle down near them. I've been here at Hogwarts long enough. It's time for some new blood."

"Your staff know, don't they?" asked Arthur.

"Certainly," replied Dumbledore. "Well, in a general sense, that is. Two of the House heads have been in on the details from the beginning."

"What about your successor, sir?" asked Percy. "Professor McGonagall? Sinistra?"

"Well, I can't really talk about that here," said the Headmaster patiently. "It's all in my posts to Minister Fudge. But I wish the governors would stop dithering and accept my letter. It's now only three weeks until I depart, and I'd like to have everything settled before my roc arrives."


	10. The Potion, part 1

**Dear readers, many thanks for your views and follows. We hope that you are enjoying this blast from the past.**

 **The chapter numbering here at FFN is different from that in the original novella since shorter chapters work better with the FFN system. We're about a third of the way through the story now, and the plot will begin to thicken.**

 **Good news - Morwen is eager to have her artwork accompany the story, so we'll be looking around for a suitable spot to publish it and link it with the chapters. Once the illustrations are up, I'll go back and edit earlier chapters to include the links.**

 **Chapter 5: The Potion - Part 1  
**

A few days after Dumbledore had announced his resignation, Harry, Ron and Hermione trudged down the hill to Hogsmeade. It was a wet, blowy Saturday, more like evening than early afternoon, and all of them huddled deep beneath their cloaks with their hats pulled firmly down. Harry was glad that he had remembered to ask Hermione to perform the rain-deflecting charm on his spectacles. In fact, he was glad simply to have the chance to be with his two friends and maybe to discuss Dumbledore's news.

It had been the only thing that anyone had talked about since the day it became general knowledge, though no one else seemed to be as worried about the idea of losing their Headmaster as Harry was. Professor Flitwick had said that no one deserved to enjoy his old age more than Albus. Fred and George had opened a book on his likely successor, with Professor McGonagall as the odds-on favourite and Hagrid as the 100-1 outsider; the winner to be paid in every flavour beans. Draco Malfoy, bragging about his father's reinstatement on the Hogwarts board of governors, had drawled that it was about time that old Bumblebore got the boot and had been pushed in the moat by Neville.

Harry had tried to talk to Hagrid about it, but he seemed to be forever disappearing from the school on what he called "errands" and returning with an air of mystery. Hermione had been busy reading Charming For Dummies with Crabbe; Ron seemed to spend a lot of time hanging around Professor Takushiki's office.

"I know you haven't known him long," Harry had said to her, desperate to talk to someone, "but don't you think it's a bad time for him to leave? The school won't be the same without him."

"I'm sure he has his reasons, Harry," she had replied gently. "He _is_ very old, you know; older than you realise, I think."

That had made him feel selfish but he couldn't help wondering why Dumbledore was leaving the school - leaving _him_ , it seemed - at a time when, as Hagrid had said, the rumours everywhere pointed to Voldemort 's growing strength. Maybe he should try to speak to Dumbledore before he left. There were still things he wanted to ask – about his parents, for instance...

"For the third time, Harry, Zonko's or Honeydukes," he suddenly heard Ron ask. "Say something. It's like being out with a zombie!"

"Sorry," replied Harry, shaking himself out of his thoughts. He had arrived in the main street of Hogsmeade without even noticing. "Zonko's is closest," he went on. "Let's get out of the rain. We can go to the Three Broomsticks when we're finished shopping."

When they finally reached the Three Broomsticks, loaded with bags from Zonko's and Honeydukes, they found it jammed. Steam fogged Harry's glasses as the odors of beer and frying potatoes hit them. They pushed through the door, peering through the crowd for a seat.

Shouts came from a tightly packed group near the bar. "One hundred and eighty!" a voice cried as a dart hit the board with a thud. "Oh, yes! I win again!"

"All right, all right, there's no need to be so rough, you're _ruining_ my feathers, you know," Harry heard the dart complaining as it was pulled back out.

"Not a chance," said Ron, shaking his head. "Let's go." He turned away and was heading out the door when Hermione spotted movement in a corner.

"A table!" she cried, pointing to a spot across the room next to a wooden partition with an amber glass section on top. A small enameled sign on the door read Snug Bar. At a table next to the door a group of burly men in dark blue were beginning to gather their cloaks. Harry darted over and slid into a chair as they stood up. From the other side of the door came the quiet mutters of those more sober patrons who chose to sit apart from the noise and bustle of the public bar.

Hermione followed a moment later, dumping two cloaks and an armful of packages onto the table. "I'll help Ron with the drinks. Butterbeer all right? How about some chips?" As she sped away toward the bar, weaving in and out between the tables, the pile of bags tottered and slid onto the floor. Sighing, Harry plunged beneath the table to retrieve them. As he gathered up the last one, two pairs of large feet passed, and he heard Filch's oily voice.

"In here, sir?" The Snug's door was opened and Filch and his drinking companion passed through and seated themselves on the other side. Harry could see their shoes under the partition, only inches away from him. "Peace and quiet at last." There was a long silence, broken by the clunk of a glass on a wooden tabletop. Filch sighed with satisfaction.

"Usually I don't tipple," he continued, a note of apology in his voice, "but Rosmerta's bitter is first-rate, don't you think, Professor?" There was the sound of shuffling feet, and a deep sniff. Harry recognized the sound.

"Not too bad," replied Snape's soft voice, "but I could brew you up something far better if you liked."

"No – ah, no, thank you, sir", said Filch, a little too quickly. Harry grinned to himself. He looked around, straining to catch a glimpse of Ron's vivid hair in the crowd at the bar. There was a loud slurp, then a clink as Filch set his glass down.

"I must remember to take back a bottle of stout for Mrs. Norris," Harry heard Filch say. "She does love a drop of it in her evening saucer of milk! And between you and me, sir, she's been a bit hoity-toity with me ever since Hallowe'en!" He lowered his voice. "Jealous you see of me dancing with young Miss Hecate! I said to her, 'Now, Mrs. Norris, what else could I do when a pretty lady asks me to dance - practically begs me with tears in her eyes - and me the only one there who knows his way around a ballroom?' But she's had her nose in the air this past week. Between you and me, sir, I don't think Mrs. Norris approves of Miss Hecate. Flighty, I think she'd say."

"Really?" said Snape drily. "Very intelligent creatures, cats, I've always thought."

Harry shut his eyes and bit his lip to keep from laughing. What would Hecate think, he mused, grinning.

"I just hope I can let her down lightly," went on Fitch with a sigh.

"Let who down?" asked Snape, sounding puzzled. "Mrs. Norris? She's not up a tree, is she?"

"No, sir," replied Filch sadly. "Miss Hecate!"

"Miss Hecate, what?" said Snape, sounding as confused as Harry was feeling on the other side of the glass.

Filch sighed again. "Well, a gentleman don't like to talk about these things in public houses but what I mean, sir, is Miss Hecate. Miss Hecate and her hopeless passion for yours truly."

Harry bit his tongue hard. In the Snug there was a spluttering sound as if a mouthful of bitter had gone the wrong way down someone's throat.

"It's my own fault for encouraging her, of course," continued Filch in gloomy tones. "I could see it coming a mile off. When she asked me to dance I should have said "No, my dear! It was not meant to be!" But Fate was guiding our feet that night and now: well, once a woman's danced the Argus Filch Fandango - she don't forget!"

"Indeed," said Snape in a dangerously calm voice. "So, would that be why the staff common room is currently knee-deep in her chocolate wrappings?"

"Every one a little silver-foil kiss to the man who's got to sweep 'em up, sir," answered Filch sadly. "Of course, it can't come to anything. I have all my duties – I've had to deny myself the sweeter side of life. Then there's Mrs. Norris. And then, think of our situations in life. Me, well, I'm practically Deputy Headmaster, the way Professor Dumbledore leans on me! And she's just a humble teacher! But I can't blame the poor creature! Fate can be very cruel sometimes, sir."

"Dear me," said Snape softly. "I do hope I don't _inadvertently_ let this interesting snippet slip out one night at the staff dining table."

"You won't, will you, sir?" asked Filch, anxiously. "The poor little thing's trying so hard to hide it, no one except me has guessed, I'm sure."

"I assure you, Filch, that I would never say that Miss Takushiki was in love with you and neither would anyone else," replied Snape solemnly. He continued, in disapproving tones. "Whatever else I might have to say about her failings."

"Ah well, nobody's perfect." answered Filch, sounding relieved. "Thank you, sir. You're a man of honour!"

Harry heard him take a deep mouthful of bitter.

"As you please, Filch, " said Snape disparagingly. "Personally, if it were in my power, I'd save you both some potential embarrassment and sack her on the spot."

"Sack her!" Filch sounded horrified. "If you ask me, and I know you didn't, sir, she's a sight better than Lockhart. I was only saying to Mrs. Norris, at least we're not setting traps for Pixies after this one like we were with _him_. Or wiping up pawprints like we were with Mr. Lupin, not that we knew what was going on _there_ , hem! hem! although Mrs. Norris never liked him. He never gave me any real trouble, though, and at least the little devils behaved in his classes! Miss Hecate's more like Mr. Lupin was, only not so dangerous, if you catch my drift?"

Harry put his finger to his lips as Ron and Hermione approached the table laden with trays and pitchers. Motioning over his shoulder, he mouthed "Snape and Filch."

Snape groaned. "Better than Lockhart! More like Lupin!" he mocked. "Now there's an endorsement! As for dangerous, Mr. Filch, You-know-Who is out there somewhere, not a word about him since Black escaped. And what is the Ministry doing? Debating Dumbledore's retirement, that's what. Bunch of useless, doddering fools!" he hissed. "Mark my words, the Ministry is going to be caught napping again, and here we are, years since there's been a steady Defense teacher at Hogwarts. What on earth, Mr. Filch, could be more dangerous than that?"

"Well sir," replied Filch ingratiatingly, "the Ministry don't have to worry about Potions; there's never been a potions master like you."

Hermione stifled a giggle and set down her pitcher. Silently they piled the packages again to make room for Ron's tray.

"As you please." Snape said tiredly. He paused, and set his glass down. "It's the most important class in the curriculum. Yet for six years it's been taught abominably, by one idiot after another. Look at the rubbish the fourth years are doing for lessons. Shakespeare. World War 2. Muggle Studies, all of it, not a damn thing to do with magic."

There was a silence as Snape drained his glass.

"Professor?" ventured Filch, "Now I've bought you a pint...well, rather than you standing your round, I need to ask you a favour. You know that Minister Fudge is always meeting with the Headmaster nowadays?"

"It's Ministry business," said Snape shortly.

"And I know, sir, you meet with them too, sir. Well, ah, I need to have a word with the Minister about something, sir. You know the Ministry and the Daily Prophet, sir - neither one never pays much attention to Squibs but we Squibs, we stick together, you know, and now there's Squibs dying all over Europe, and disappearing, sir, it's uncanny. We think it's..," his voice dropped to a whisper, "You-Know-Who."

There was a long pause.

"And precisely where did you come across that idea?" asked Snape in his silkiest voice. Harry shuddered inwardly, remembering the times Snape had spoken to him exactly that way.

"I'm on an e-mail list for Squibs," faltered Filch. "It's, ah, a kind of Muggle technology. For sending messages. Comes over the telly cable."

Ron wrinkled his nose. "Eel-mail?" he mouthed. "Later," whispered Hermione.

"We are leaving." announced Snape abruptly. "To see the Headmaster. I hope we can catch him in time before he leaves for London tonight. You'd better tell him everything you know." There was a brief shuffling, and Snape strode out of the Snug. He stopped short when he saw the companions, and Filch nearly collided with him.

Snape glared down, his lips compressed into a thin line. "How long have you been here?" he snarled.

"We, ah, just arrived, Professor," said Hermione hurriedly. "Have a chip?" She lifted the steaming platter toward him. Snape passed a calculating glance over the disorderly table and the full mugs of butterbeer. With a jerk of his head, he strode toward the door. Filch hesitated, then helped himself to a large handful of chips. He winked broadly at Hermione and hurried after Snape, stuffing chips in his mouth as he went.

"Hermione! Did you wink back at him?" asked Ron, aghast.

"Public relations," she replied calmly, taking a sip of butterbeer. "So, Harry, what else did they say?"

Harry briefly reviewed the conversation. Hermione frowned. "Why would Voldemort kill Squibs?" she mused. "Aren't they the same as Muggles?"

Ron shook his head. "Some of them have a little magic, but not enough to be of any use to them."

"Then they could hardly oppose him, could they?" asked Harry. He thought, hard. "There has to be a purpose. What is there about Squibs that could be useful to him?"

"Maybe their death terror?" asked Hermione, warming to the subject. "Remember Grindelwald and his dementors? Ugh!" She broke off with a shudder.

"Not hardly!" replied Ron. "Plenty of Muggles out there if he just wants fear. No, Squibs are rare. Maybe it's their connections to Muggle ways - washing machines, ham radio and such. My dad says that if it weren't for them, we'd never get anything new into the wizarding community. What's this eel-mail thing Filch was talking about?"

As Hermione explained, and Ron looked progressively more confused, Harry leaned back in his chair. The butterbeer was hot and delicious as ever, but somehow it failed to warm him. He took another large sip. What was it that Percy had said, and Dumbledore? Something about a witch ... a young woman, whose death was not a suicide... But she had been a witch, not a Squib. It just didn't make sense.

"Harry!" said Ron, breaking into his thoughts. "What were you chuckling about when we arrived?"

Harry burst out laughing with it before he could stop himself. "Filch thinks Professor Takushiki is in love with him because she asked him to dance at the ball!" he spluttered. "He thinks he's in a love triangle with her and Mrs. Norris!"

Hermione put down her chips so she could laugh as well. "She asked Snape as well, remember!" she giggled. "Maybe he and Filch will have to fight a duel!"

"On broomsticks!" added Harry, which seemed to make the whole thing even more ridiculous. Then he noticed that Ron was not laughing.

"Harry," said his friend earnestly, "You don't think she really is in love with Filch, do you?"

Ron's face was tense with worry, and suddenly Harry understood what he had only suspected after the Hallowe'en ball. He pressed his fist hard against his upper lip, struggling to keep the laughter in and to avoid meeting Hermione's eye.

"Head over heels," he sputtered at last, and went off into gales of laughter.

"I don't see what's so funny," retorted Ron hotly. "He's nothing but a dirty old man." A loud squeak came from Hermione, who clung to the table, her shoulders shaking helplessly. "What's the matter with you two? Get a grip on yourselves!"

"Come on, Ron!" gasped Harry. "Even Snape could see it was rubbish!"

Hermione finally opened her eyes. "Sorry, Ron," she began, and had to stop again. "…but after the way you're carrying on... and after you twitted me so about Lockhart..."

Ron turned red from his sweater to the roots of his hair. "Are you comparing her to Lockhart?" he demanded. "Because if you are..." His voice trailed off angrily.

"Not at all!" said Hermione, and "She's not!" put in Harry at the same time. "Prof. Takushiki's nice," said Harry, "she's smart, she's fun,"

"She knows her stuff," pointed out Hermione, "she's always interesting,"

"Good choice Ron!" finished up Harry. He could hardly believe that Ron was blushing even more deeply.

"She is wonderful," confided Ron with a sigh. "The only trouble is, she's ten years older than I am."

"Not to worry, you're growing fast," giggled Hermione.

"He certainly is!" said a voice behind them. They looked up and saw Fred and George with broad grins spread across their faces.

"How long have you been standing there?" asked Ron suspiciously.

"Long enough!" replied George. "So, our little brother's growing up! Can we be bridesmaids when you set a date? Remember, peach doesn't suit me but I think we'd both look good in turquoise."

"Oh, grow up yourself!" snapped Ron and stalked off to the bar.

"Well, young Romeo and his Juliet can wait 'til later," said Fred, sitting down. "George my boy! And we thought we'd never have anything to replace Perce and Penny! If our old friend Filch thinks the gorgeous (he rolled his eyes) Miss Takushiki is in love with him, it would be cruel not to play along."

"Fred!" said Hermione in a warning way.

"Nothing dramatic," said George reassuringly. "Maybe the odd anonymous poem?"

"Does anything rhyme with Hecate?" mused Fred. "Ah, never mind. Quick, let's go back to Zonko's and get one of those pens that disguise your handwriting!"

"And some pink flowered note paper!" added George. The two of them sprinted to the door.

There was a loud cough in Harry's ear. "Are you going to need this table much longer, young man?" said a blubbery voice. "Only you seem to have finished your drinks."

"We're going; if you don't mind, Hermione?" Harry said to the waiting ghoul. Hermione nodded agreement. "It's too noisy in here now," she said.

They picked up a still sulky Ron from the bar and began to walk back to the castle through the frosty night air.

* * *

 **Many thanks for the views and follows so far. I'll be posting a few sections a week from now on, so check back frequently. Please do review - when we first posted the story on its own website, there was no review function. Now that we can receive reviews, please send some! – Pogonia**


	11. The Potion, part 2

**The Potion - Part 2**

"There's something I need to tell you," Harry said to Hermione and Ron. "It came back to me in the pub but there were too many people there. You know we thought that Hecate could maybe talk to dead people after we overheard her that day in the Headmaster's office? Well, she definitely can. I was out, um, practicing some Quidditch flying with Cho Chang a week ago and we ended up listening to a meeting Dumbledore was holding with the Heads of the houses. That girl who died that Percy was talking about – she didn't commit suicide; Voldemort tied her up with wand rope and put a death-sleep spell on her. She told Hecate. And there was someone with Voldemort too – when he was killing her – and from the description, I'm sure it was Pettigrew."

"That's awful," shuddered Hermione. "Poor girl!"

"It must be strange for Hecate, too, with messages coming through like that," said Ron. "Wait a minute, didn't she say something to Dumbledore about Nicolas Flamel? You-know-who didn't get him too, did he?"

"No, I think he was just saying Hello," replied Harry. "But why did Voldemort kill that girl? She can't have hurt him, any more than Squibs can."

"Maybe he hates Squibs because he doesn't think they're proper wizards and witches?" shrugged Ron. "Do you think all those papers of Dumbledore's have something to do with it? I wonder why he wants them all."

"Well, he might not know precisely what he's looking for," said Hermione slowly. "Or…he does know and he doesn't want someone else to guess if he just asks for those papers."

Ron nodded. "Dad says you don't know who to trust at the Ministry these days, now Lucius Malfoy looks like he's back in favour. And Fudge is about as much use as a chocolate cauldron."

"Did you hear anything else at this meeting, Harry?" asked Hermione. They were approaching the school entrance now.

"Dumbledore was talking about some plan he had that Snape didn't like. His resignation, I suppose," he answered. "We almost got caught and Cho was scared, so I had to take her back in."

"Ooo, Cho was scared!" said Ron with a grin, nudging Harry in the ribs.

"Well, it _was_ scary, all that stuff about dead people and Voldemort," replied Harry defensively.

"Just wait 'til I tell Fred!" Ron laughed, and dodging the stink bomb that his friend had swiftly pulled from the Zonko's bag, he ran off in the direction of the Gryffindor common room with Harry close behind.

"Harry, stop!" called Hermione. "I think we need to talk to Dumbledore about this. Remember, we promised Hagrid."

Harry waited by the stairs for her to catch up. "What would we tell him?" he asked. "We don't know anything that he doesn't know already. How would it help?"

"There's Pettigrew," Hermione pointed out. "We're the only ones that know what he looks like now."

Harry's stomach sank. He couldn't blame her for being right, but it wasn't going to be easy. At least he might have a chance to talk with Dumbledore about his parents. "All right," he said finally, "but he won't be back until tomorrow night. I'll talk to him Monday after classes. I wanted to ask him about a few other things anyway."

Harry made a final notation in his notebook for Defense against the Dark Arts, taking his time. As usual, Ron had made his way to the head of the class, followed by Hermione, to ask one more question that couldn't wait. Around him, the other students were picking up their books and bookbags. Cho gave him a quick wave and rushed out. He grinned to himself – Cho was always in a rush to get somewhere. He was sorry that the unit on Shakespeare had ended and hoped that the one to come on Grindelwald would be as interesting – there was certainly enough reading to do before their next lesson. Defense was definitely turning out to be his favorite class, and it didn't hurt that Cho was in it too.

As they left the classroom, Malfoy and Goyle were waiting outside. "Make way for Gryffindor's Quidditch star!" Malfoy announced with a sneer. Harry glared at him. "Looks like you want to star in Defense too – are you writing down every word she says?" Goyle snickered, loudly. Malfoy continued, looking sidelong at Ron. "She's such an idiot, trying to frighten us with all those warnings against the Dark Side. Of course Shakespeare was petrified of Dark Arts – what else would you expect of a Muggle?"

Ron turned, anger rising in his face. "She is _not_ an idiot. If anyone is, it's you – you missed her whole point!"

"Which is, Professor?" Malfoy drawled.

"That Dark Arts is not the only kind of evil, and if we're going to defend against Dark Arts, we have to go up against the other kinds of evil too."

Malfoy burst out laughing. "As if it's any concern of ours!" he said. "Who even cares, except a bunch of Muggle–lovers like your sorry family."

As Ron raised his fists, Harry quickly stepped in front of him. "He's right, you know. Do you really think Dark Arts is the only thing that makes Voldemort dangerous?" Several onlookers, flinching at the name, began to drift away.

"Ooo, listen to the big man, he can say the bad guy's name!" sneered Malfoy. "What's the big deal about him anyway? The guy's half a mudblood – he should be easy enough to handle, if a person knows how."

"What do you know, Malfoy?" Harry scoffed.

Malfoy raised his eyebrows. "I know whose father can handle him, and whose couldn't."

"Leave my father out of this," said Harry threateningly.

"Why should I?" retorted Malfoy. "Like father, like son. Look at the loser friends you hang around with. A shiftless Weasley, a know it all Mudblood and whiny little Neville the Squib. Your father's friends were losers too."

"Leave him alone, Draco!" shouted Hermione. "You don't know when to stop, do you?" She took Harry's arm, but he shook her off.

Malfoy grinned unpleasantly. "I said losers, and I meant losers. Sirius Black the murderer, and that creepy werewolf Lupin, and Pettigrew who let himself be blown up just like a muggle. Saddoes the lot of them. Creeps and weirdos."

Harry felt the anger rise up inside him. I won't lose my temper this time, he thought to himself. Draco's not worth it. Despite himself, he clenched his fists and stepped towards his tormentor. Malfoy eyed him up and down. "Oh, yes, there's another way you're like your father, besides all the fancy Quidditch tricks. He was an ambitious little showoff, just like you, always trying to prove what a hero he was at fighting evil. Got a bit out of his league in the end, didn't he?"

"Those are lies! You don't know the first thing about my father!" bellowed Harry.

"Oh, don't I," drawled Malfoy. "My father told me all about it. Every disgusting little detail."

The world turned red around Harry. Forgetting his wand, he launched himself across the corridor. As from far away, he heard Ron and Hermione shout " _Expelliarmus!_ " and saw Malfoy's wand go flying just before he hit him. The two boys crashed to the floor, punching and rolling.

"Make them stop!" yelled Hermione. Crabbe caught Goyle's eye, and the two burly Slytherins moved in on the fighters.

"Make way!" a high voice shouted, the crowd moved aside to let tiny Prof. Flitwick pass through. " _Locomotor mortis!_ " he cried, and all four boys toppled to the floor.

"Oh, dear, oh dear," murmured Flitwick, "fighting again?" He turned angrily to the assembled students. "Don't you all have anything better to do? Go on then, be off with you!" he squeaked.

"Please, sir," begged Hermione, "Goyle and Crabbe were just trying to stop the fight." Heads nodded all around. Flitwick shrugged his shoulders and drew a rapid pattern in the air with his wand. Goyle and Crabbe burst up from the floor and retreated with the rest of the students.

Flitwick turned to Ron and Hermione. "You two as well," he said, not unkindly. "We'll sort this out." Immobilized on the floor, Harry strained his eyes toward them as they trudged slowly down the corridor. As he lay helpless, wishing that he could stand up, there was a soft rustle of robes behind his head. Snape's face swam into view above him like a malevolent moon.

"Really, Mr. Potter, isn't bending the rules on the Quidditch field enough for you?"

"Did you hear us from the dungeons, Severus?" asked Flitwick.

"You, no, but I imagine the dead could have heard _them_ ," said Snape.

Flitwick peered down at the boys. "I'll let them up now, Severus." Snape nodded. " _Finite incantatem_ , gentlemen, but only so long as you behave yourselves." Harry's limbs unlocked, and he scrambled to his feet, glaring at Malfoy, who was groaning theatrically and rubbing his right arm.

"I..." he began, looking from Snape, to Flitwick, to Malfoy, wondering where he had to defend himself first.

"Now," asked Flitwick, "who started this foolishness?"

"He did!" both boys burst out. Malfoy moistened his lips, a calculating look in his eyes. "He went for me, Professor, right here in front of everyone."

"He insulted my father!" The words poured out of Harry. "He called him a loser and …"

"Name calling," muttered Snape disparagingly. "Everyone is called names once in a while."

"There, there," soothed Flitwick in alarm. "Draco, what possessed you to do that?"

Malfoy cleared his throat. "I'm, uh, sorry for the language I used," he said meekly, his eyes fixed on Snape. "But everything else I said about his father is true, and everybody knows it really."

"Lies! All lies!" Harry shouted. He struggled to control the trembling in his voice. "I don't care what your father thinks of my father. But to talk about him – that way – when he can't defend himself..." He hesitated, feeling his anger swept away by a strange, cold clarity. He looked Snape full in the eyes. Images flashed through his mind – the dementors, Lupin, the Hogwarts Express, the Dursleys, his broomstick, Hecate. "… there's no honour in it. My father died fighting Voldemort. So did my mother. No one can take that away from them. Not him and not you. And if anyone tries to spit on their memory, I'll fight him. As many times as it takes."

"Fighting is punishable by expulsion, Mr. Potter," said Snape. "Or - and forgive me for troubling you with the question - is that another rule that has ceased to apply to you?"

Harry looked up at Snape scornfully. "Expel me if you like," he spat. "I'll go and pack my things." After a silence, he added, "Sir."

Inside he felt torrents of despair and confusion rush into him, filling his chest and throat. He thought of Hagrid, expelled from Hogwarts at fourteen. What would he do now? What could he do?

"Now, let's calm down. They should both go to the Headmaster," announced Flitwick briskly. "I doubt that it'll be expulsion, though," he added. "Oh dear, now I'm late for my next class..."

"I have to see the Headmaster myself in half an hour," replied Snape abruptly. "I'll take them up."

Flitwick disappeared down the corridor with a last sorrowful smile at both boys. Snape watched him go, then turned back to Harry.

"Potter," he said, putting his face very close to Harry's, "You are lucky; as usual, far luckier than you deserve, that I have more important things to worry about at this moment than your arrogance and wilfulness. But I warn you against puffing yourself up with too many glorious tales of your father's exploits. Those sort of dreams have a nasty habit of going "pop" when you least expect it."

He straightened up abruptly. "You will both wait in silence outside my laboratory until I escort you to the Headmaster's office."

The bench outside the dungeon was hard, the hall drafty, and Harry's worries were poor company. His lip stung, and he could feel a bruise swelling under his eye. From within the laboratory came the sounds of Snape's muttering, the clink of weights on the scales, the hiss of the gas flame and an occasional cough or gasp. Half an hour seemed like an eternity. At last the door opened and Snape emerged, his thin face parchment-white. He carried a bubbling goblet. Harry wrinkled his nose in disgust. The faintest odor of the potion made his head swim, and Snape had been standing over it all that time. No wonder he looks sick, thought Harry vindictively, it serves him right. Silently the Potions Master motioned them up the stairs to Dumbledore's office, where he knocked twice. Afternoon sunlight flooded into the corridor as the door opened.

"So, gentlemen," said the Headmaster sternly. "Professor Flitwick told me about the incident in the hallway..." Suddenly a great smile spread across his face. "Ah, Severus! You've brought it after all!" With an expression of distaste, Snape pushed the goblet toward him, trailing a cloud of odor. Harry's eyes began to water, and he rubbed his scar, which tingled furiously. Something about that potion was wrong, very wrong.

Dumbledore took the goblet gently and carried it into his office. Snape followed. "It's been many years since I've seen this potion, Severus, but it looks… quite different this time."

"It is prepared differently according to the age of the user," said Snape, defensively.

"Ah, that explains it. Thank you then, my friend," said Dumbledore.

There was a scraping of feet. Then Snape said, "Is your mind made up then, Headmaster? Must you go ahead with this plan of yours?"

"Would I have put you to all the trouble of making the potion if I wasn't sure?" answered Dumbledore. "I have Hecate's interviews and Papilio's sorting charm and Argus's information. They are all part of the puzzle."

"To which only you have the key," finished Snape, disapprovingly. "As usual. I should have thought you'd tell somebody, just in case…Ah, well."

"You're still upset about it, aren't you?"

"No, what good would it do? Once you've made up your mind, you don't change it. It doesn't matter now."

Suddenly Dumbledore chuckled. "It doesn't matter now? Are you telling me that what's past is past, and not worth begrudging? You of all people – do you finally believe it?"

"What's done is done," answered Snape, sounding resigned. "You've chosen your path. I see you are determined to remain a typical reckless Gryffindor to the end."

"Severus, let us not argue now," replied Dumbledore placatingly. "My travel plans are made; I have many things to finish up in the next few days – just look at the state of my desk! And, I need to meet with the House heads again before the governors arrive tomorrow morning. Is directly after dinner suitable?"

"It will do," replied Snape darkly.

"I owe you some explanations, Severus – and you are correct, there are a few things you still need to know. We'll talk in private before I leave. I understand how difficult these last weeks have been for you," said Dumbledore gravely, "and I thank you with all my heart. Until later, then?"

Snape turned to go. "As you surely remember, the second draught must be consumed between ten and sixty minutes after the first sip. Otherwise it's useless. Goodbye, Headmaster." He glided out the door, his hands pressed to his head as if in pain. Catching sight of the boys in the hall, he jerked his arms down and stalked away.

A moment later Dumbledore opened the door and gently asked Malfoy to enter. Left to wait again, Harry sank from tiredness to despondency. The itching in his scar worsened as time dragged on. Behind the closed door he heard Dumbledore's calm voice and Malfoy's strident one, and the sound of papers being moved.

A sudden wave of agony knifed through Harry's head and flung him out of his seat. As he hit the stone floor on hands and knees, he heard a violent crash like glass breaking, followed by shouts in the office. Harry struggled to his feet, the pain like a red-hot hammer pounding into his scar. It's Voldemort, he thought wildly. He's in there! He began struggling toward the door.

Dumbledore's voice rang out. "Voldemort! You're early, old enemy!"

A high, evil laugh rose above his words. " _I_ decide the time, old fool. Prepare to die!"

"Harry - Get help!" commanded Dumbledore in a choked voice. "Go!"


	12. The Potion, part 3

Harry bolted down the corridor to the stairs, trying to figure out which teacher could be nearest. Behind him the hallway echoed with shouts and sizzling sounds. He burst into McGonagall's office and blurted out, "It's Voldemort! He's attacking the Headmaster!"

McGonagall stood up instantly. "Oh, no!" she exclaimed. "Already?" She grabbed his arm and pulled him toward the fireplace.

"What are you doing?" shouted Harry incredulously. "Aren't you going to help him?"

"Not until you're safe," McGonagall replied grimly, thrusting her wand toward the fireplace. Flames burst up from the cold cinders. "When I cast the Floo powder, say 'Hagrid's hut' and step in!"

"But, but…" protested Harry, as she rummaged in a jar on the mantelpiece.

"Do it!" She threw a handful of powder on the flames and shoved him into the fireplace. There was only one thing to do. "Hagrid's hut!" he shouted.

A moment later, coughing from the ashes, Harry tumbled out of Hagrid's fireplace onto the tiled hearth. He lurched to the door and looked toward the castle. Smoke belched forth from a window high in the north tower. As he watched, two figures on broomsticks launched themselves outward and sailed away. A last hammer blow of pain pounded him down and he fell unconscious onto the flagstones.

Harry awoke slowly, dizzily, in a place where the lights were too bright. From the odor, and the curtains around him, he knew he must be in the infirmary. The side of his head ached. He reached up and felt thick bandages covering a bump the size of an egg. The curtain around his bed was pulled aside and Madam Pomfrey marched in, her face grim. "Good, you're awake. Hagrid brought you up half an hour ago. You had a bad knock on the head, but nothing else serious. Lie back now while I check your eyes."

Suddenly Harry remembered. "Never mind me, what about Dumbledore?" he demanded. Pomfrey's face crumpled, and she shook her head slowly. She opened her mouth, but a long moment passed before she could find words.

"I'm so sorry, Harry, " she said in a trembling voice. Her hands flew up to her face, then she choked back a sob and fled through the curtains. It was the worst possible news.

"Oh no, oh no," Harry moaned. He struggled to sit up but the dizziness caught him again and he collapsed back onto the cot, his stomach heaving. Then the tears came, and that was worse. How could Dumbledore be dead? It was as if a huge chunk of himself had been ripped out and burned. He felt as if he would never be whole again. Silent and shaking, he wept until his eyes went dry, but no amount of pain or tears could fill up the emptiness inside him. It went on and on until it threatened to swallow him up. There was no way out, none. Dumbledore was never coming back.

At last, wrung out with weeping, Harry opened his eyes and looked around. His glasses were on the side table with a jug of water. He fumbled for them and managed to get them on without the dizziness overcoming him. The huddled shape two beds away resolved into a small-boned boy with pale hair.

"Malfoy?" he whispered, and when there was no response, "Draco?" The boy turned and heaved himself up on an elbow. Harry thought he might have been crying. "Draco – what happened?"

Malfoy looked at him numbly. One side of his face was bandaged, and his arms were full of sticking plasters. "Dumbledore's dead. It was Voldemort." He turned his head away.

"Well, how come you're alive then?" Harry asked, too drained to feel anything but puzzled.

"He heaved me out the window with his wand, that's when they got him. It was like a bomb or something, I don't know – it all happened too fast."

Pomfrey appeared behind Malfoy with a tray of bandages and pushed him back onto the bed. "Lie down, now. The bandage on your head is coming loose." She drew the curtain around the bed. As if on cue, Ron and Hermione appeared at the door and tiptoed over to Harry's bed. Harry clasped their hands and looked from one to the other, unable to think of anything to say. Finally Hermione broke the silence.

"Are you all right, Harry?"

Harry looked from one worn face to the other. "I've been better. How are you?"

Ron squeezed his shoulder. "We were really worried about you."

"I'm ok. I can't believe he's gone."

Hermione shook her head. "No one can. Oh, Harry, everyone is crying, all over the school." Her eyes filled with tears.

"How did you find out?"

"Professor McGonagall called us all into the great hall," said Hermione. "Someone was saying there had been an explosion by the Headmaster's office. We'd heard you'd been sent there after the fight, so I asked Professor Sinistra 'Is Harry all right?' He said, very quietly, 'Yes, Hermione, your friend is safe'. I was so pleased I didn't realize what Professor McGonagall was saying for a minute. She just stood up and announced that she had some very bad news. She said that Dumbledore was dead...because Voldemort had attacked him. I think she had to stop for a minute because she was so upset. Then she said you and Draco had been nearby but escaped with only a few scratches and bruises. Hagrid called out that he saw two people in robes flying away from the castle on broomsticks."

Harry nodded. "I saw them too. One of them was Voldemort."

"How did you know?" asked Ron.

"Whenever I see him, my scar starts to ache."

"Then Fudge came rushing in and started going 'What am I going to do? What am I going to do without him?'" said Ron bitterly. "Thinking about himself like Dad says he always does. But Professor McGonagall said this was no time for speeches. We stood quiet for a minute and then she dismissed us."

Hermione continued. "A group of us walked over to the Headmaster's office window to see what we could. Ginny is the lightest of us all, so we levitated her high enough to have a look. She said, oh, Harry, that the inside of the office was scorched and all the papers on Dumbledore's desk were burnt up, and there was broken glass and something like licorice string all over the floor. Fawkes was still in his cage. He called to her."

"Too bad he doesn't talk," said Ron. "He could tell us exactly what happened."

"You weren't inside the office when ...?" asked Hermione.

"No, but Malfoy was," answered Harry. "I remember sitting outside. Snape had just left." The scar on his forehead was still pulsing faintly and he suddenly remembered that it had started to bother him well before the dreadful cries from Dumbledore's office had rung out. But why?

Aloud he said: "Dumbledore told me to get help, but I didn't, did I?"

"It was Voldemort, Harry!" said Hermione. "What could you have done?"

The curtains were flung open and Poppy Pomfrey entered with a tray bearing a tall glass and a bottle. "You two have been here long enough. Your friend's been through a lot today. You can come back in the morning if he's feeling better." She turned to Harry and handed him the glass. "This is a sleeping draught, and I am going to watch you drink it," she said as she filled the glass with a clear liquid from the bottle.

Harry thought fast. He could not sleep now. There might be the chance to find something out from Malfoy, to do something to help Dumbledore after death if he had not helped him before. "If you're going to make me sleep, I'd better use the bathroom first", he said, setting the glass down.

Pomfrey shook her head firmly. "You're not going anywhere, Potter. I'll get you a bedpan."

"Help me get rid of it!" hissed Harry as soon as she stepped out.

With a quick look around Ron grabbed the potion. Lifting the collar of his robe outward, he poured the entire contents of the glass over his shirt underneath. "Freezing!" he mouthed, shivering.

"Lucky it doesn't smell," Hermione pointed out, refilling the glass from the pitcher beside the bed. She gave Harry a hug. "Good luck!"

"See you in the morning," said Ron, catching his hand, and padded out.

Pomfrey returned a minute later with a collection jug. She handed it to Harry without a word and turned her back while he filled it. When he was done, he obediently drained the glass under her watchful stare, then lay down as she arranged another blanket over him. He had a lot of thinking to do.


	13. The Potion, part 4

**Update: Thanks to all the visitors and readers! Apologies to the story's followers for stuffing your e-mail box. I have rearranged the chapters, expanding the former chapter 3 (Beginnings) into three parts. And today (June 9 2015) I also posted a missing chapter that somehow never made it to the site. It is now chapter 7 (Messages, part 2) that explains exactly what Crabbe did to Hermione's potion. The new material for today is the last chapter (The Potion, part 3) and this chapter (The Potion, part 4).**

 **Making progress on posting Morwen's illustrations - more news on that in the next week or so.**

* * *

A quarter of an hour later Harry's thoughts were interrupted by the sounds of a group of people entering the infirmary – McGonagall, Snape and Fudge, judging by the voices. Through a crack in the curtain, he could see them seating themselves around Malfoy's bed, and Pomfrey propping up her patient with armfuls of pillows.

"Tell us everything," Fudge commanded. "Everything you can remember. Start at the beginning."

"I had to go and see the Headmaster because Potter had hit me," began Malfoy with a self-pitying sniff. "There were papers everywhere in his office. He had to move some of them on his desk to put down the goblet with his potion in it."

"Potion? What potion?" interrupted Fudge.

"The one Professor Snape gave him just before," answered Malfoy with a sideways glance at the Potions master.

"And he drank it?" asked Fudge, eyeing Snape in turn.

"Yes, sir," said Malfoy. "Well, most of it. He saw me looking at it and he said it was to 'Boost my aging powers'."

"So, did he seem in any way ill or different when you entered the room?" asked Fudge.

Malfoy frowned in thought. "He fetched me a chair to sit on and he moved it with his hands, not with magic," he replied finally. "I thought that was a bit odd. That was before he drank the potion though."

"And then?" said Professor McGonagall.

"Well, he asked me why I thought Potter had hit me," continued Malfoy, shifting uncomfortably. "And I said the sun was in my eyes...it _was_ in my eyes...and could I have the blind shut, please? So he did and then we talked about the fight and I explained about my friends Crabbe and Goyle having to defend me and I don't think he was really listening because he began to look rather sick." He paused.

"And then?" said Snape quietly.

"The room went dark; there was something outside the window, blocking the light. Then all the glass shattered and they flew in, five or six of them, I think, they were filling the room."

"Who flew in?" demanded Fudge.

"Men – well, people anyway – in dark robes and hoods. The ones who attacked us." He swallowed. "Some of them didn't have faces, or maybe they were invisible. Dumbledore called one, 'He who must not be named', I mean, he called him by name. You-know-who just _laughed_ at him. It was horrible. Then the Headmaster shouted to Harry to get help, and pushed me behind him."

"Did they fight?" asked McGonagall.

"They had wands; they made fire like lightning bolts come out of them. The room was burning, the papers, everything. And there was something like wand rope as well. They were trying to catch Dumbledore with it. He stood in front of me and tried to get us to the window but then one of the ropes caught his sleeve. He couldn't get away and one of the lightning bolts hit his arm..." He paused and stared ahead, blinking hard.

"What happened them?" Fudge asked.

"I don't know," Malfoy said finally, his voice breaking. "He didn't even try to free himself. He reached back and touched me with his wand, and I went flying out the broken window into the bushes. The moment I looked up, I saw fire and smoke exploding out the window along with bits of burning paper."

Fudge pressed. "Did you see anything else?"

"No, nothing - I couldn't - there was too much smoke coming out the window."

The adults exchanged glances, their faces grim. "Why did he attack like that?" Fudge asked Snape. "It was nothing at all like those recent murders and disappearances."

"But it _was_ like the schoolgirl's murder," replied McGonagall. "There was wand-rope, and multiple attackers." She turned to Malfoy. "Tell us about the attackers. The ones with no faces – were they dementors?"

Draco shook his head and shrugged. "I… I don't think so. They were, well, the size of regular people."

"Did they all attack?"

He shook his head again. "No, not all," he said thoughtfully.

Snape's voice was steely. "How many, then? It's important that we know exactly."

Malfoy considered for a moment. "Two. Maybe three." He paused again. "The others just followed them around."

"Did you recognize any of the faces?" Malfoy shook his head and looked down, covering his eyes. "Do you think my father will come soon?" he asked suddenly in a whisper. "I want to see him. Could I see him, sir?"

Pomfrey broke in, her jaw set. "All right, now, gentlemen, that's enough. This is an infirmary, not a courtroom. I won't have an inquisition here. You can talk to him tomorrow. For now, he needs a sleeping draught so that his wounds will mend faster."

"Any more questions?" asked Fudge, glancing around. He cleared his throat. "Thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Malfoy. We may need to speak with you again and we wish you a speedy recovery. I'll owl your father tonight."

They rose to leave, and were joined at the door by Flitwick.

"Ah, Minister Fudge!" he piped. "What a terrible day, terrible. We've searched the grounds and found no trace of the attackers. The students are all safe in their dormitories, and the rest of us are waiting for you in the staff room. Can you meet with us now?"

Harry slumped back on his pillow as the sound of the teachers' feet faded down the hall. Thinking of Dumbledore's last battle, and its tragic end, made his heart ache. It seemed clear that two of the attackers had been Voldemort and Pettigrew, but the third – if there indeed had been more – who could they be? Harry's thoughts drifted back to the potion. A strengthening potion – but why would a strengthening potion make Dumbledore weak? Different, Dumbledore had said, than when he had seen the potion many years ago... The pieces of the puzzle swam through his mind, but he was too tired to grasp all of them at once. One by one they eluded him, floating off into a misty haze. But as he drifted off to sleep a new image crystallized in his mind, clear and sharp: Snape's thin sallow face and Lucius Malfoy's sharp white one, bent close together in the darkness of an alchemist's shop in Knockturn Alley.

When Harry next woke up, it was afternoon. For a moment, he could not understand where he was or what was causing the dull ache in his stomach. Then he remembered. He wondered how long it would be before the fact that Dumbledore was dead stopped hitting him afresh every day. He had always known that his parents were dead at least...

He turned over; Malfoy's bed was empty.

"Gone home for a few days," Madam Pomfrey told him when she brought him a plate of toast and some tea.

"His father came and got him?" Harry asked. He did not like the thought of Lucius Malfoy looking down on him when he had been asleep.

"No," sniffed Madam Pomfrey. "One of the servants came for him."

After examining Harry's bruised head she agreed that he could leave the infirmary the next morning. "But I'm keeping you one more night to be sure," she said. "Your friends are outside and I know Hagrid's around somewhere waiting to see you."

"To be honest, you look worse in daylight," said Ron when he and Hermione arrived. "That lump is all colours. Hang on, where's Malfoy?"

Harry quickly explained and told them what he had overheard the night before.

"So Dumbledore died saving Draco's life?" mused Ron. "Well, that'll look great on his wizard trading card!"

"Ron!" Hermione protested. "So they actually used wand rope? It _is_ like that attack on that girl who died."

"All the way up to the explosion, anyway," replied Ron.

"I want to know about that potion," Harry said grimly. "I knew there was something fishy about it when I smelled it, and last night I could see Fudge was wondering about it too."

"That reminds me – Snape's not here!" said Hermione excitedly. "We all turned up for potions this afternoon and Professor McGonagall was there! She said he'd had to go away unexpectedly."

"For how long?"

"She said she'd see us next week, so at least seven days," answered Ron.

"Someone else to see you," announced Madam Pomfrey.

Hagrid stood in the doorway. His eyes were bloodshot and swollen, and great pouches of skin sagged below them. He seemed to have lost a foot off his height and gained ten years in age.

"How are yeh, Harry?" Hagrid began. He tried to smile but his lower lip trembled and large tears began rolling down his nose into his beard. Ron and Hermione jumped up and led him to a chair at Harry's bedside. The two boys patted his shoulders while Hermione stroked his bowed head until finally he pulled a handkerchief the size of a pillowcase from his pocket, wiped his face and gave a great sigh.

"I'm sorry ter yer all," he said finally. "I came ter see yeh were safe, Harry, and ter comfort yeh – but losin' Dumbledore…it's worse than being in Azkaban."

He thrust the handkerchief back into his pocket. There was a clinking noise as the coat tails swung to and fro.

"Talk to us, Hagrid, we loved him too," said Hermione, with a glance at the pocket. "But don't drink, will you? I suppose I don't really know but people say it doesn't help when you're unhappy."

"They're right, 'cos I've tried it," answered Hagrid with a rueful half smile. "No, yeh don't have ter worry abou' that, I'm done wi' it."

"Hagrid, do you know where Snape has gone?" asked Harry.

"Ter London, wi' the Minister," replied Hagrid. "Ah, I'm not sure I oughter tell yer this..." He hesitated, but it was obvious he was dying to talk about it. They watched him expectantly until he sighed and gave in.

"Well," he began, lowering his voice, "Minister Fudge an' th' teachers spoke wi' Draco Malfoy las' night ter find out what happened…"

"We know about that," said Harry.

"Ah, right, I should've guessed ye'd be listenin'," sighed Hagrid. "Afterwards there was a big teachers' meetin', so I was there. Fudge said ter Snape, 'So, perfessor, this potion yeh made fer th' late headmaster; did he ask yer for it? Did yeh make it yerself? What was in the thing?' And Snape sez; 'The correct ingredients, which is what I always puts in my potions, minister, as requested.'"

Hermione broke in. "Did he ask for the potion, then?"

"Yes," Harry replied. "I heard them talking about it when Snape brought it in. He seemed very eager to have it and thanked him for it, even though Snape was arguing with him."

Hagrid continued his story. "Then Fudge says 'It was s'pposed ter make him stronger but the boy said he looked ill after tekin' it.' Snape tells him: 'Twas just a temp'rary side effect, many potions have 'em, as I thought yer might 've known. An' yer oughter know as well that ther's no sich thing as a potion that'll strengthen yer magic.' Fudge hems, and he haws, and he asks, 'So then, why did th' Headmaster tell him tha's what it was?' and Snape says he supposes he had 'is reasons fer it. So Fudge is gettin' angry now, I could see, and so he comes out with 'An' He-who-must-not-be-named jus' happens ter attack right after he took it? What d'yer have ter say ter _that?'_ And Snape jus' looks down his nose at him and sez 'Minister, you air not talkin' to one of yer underlings now, I am sayin' nothin' ferther for th' moment.' So Fudge tells him, 'Then yeh can come ter London fer an inquest and say it there!' And off they went!"

"I didn't _think_ you could make potions to increase or weaken people's magical powers," said Hermione, sounding puzzled. "We covered it at the start of term, remember? The second day?"

Ron shook his head quite firmly.

"So what could that potion have been? And how could Dumbledore think that Snape was giving him a strengthening potion?"

Ron shrugged. "That's the thing about potions, isn't it? Most people don't understand them; only the people who make them. If someone gives you the glass and says 'it does this' how are you going to know any different?"

"Hagrid," said Harry, "There's been something at the back of my mind that you told us a while back; I thought of it last night. Didn't you say you met Snape and Lucius Malfoy in Knockturn Alley?"

"Back last month?" asked Hagrid. "I'd fergotten that."

"Tell us again what you saw?"

"Well," said Hagrid "I'd been up t' London ter take a parcel ter one of Dumbledore's old friends; Doctor John Dee he was called, I suppose he'll be at the fun'ral now..." His voice trailed off and he put his hands over his face.

"I'm sorry, Hagrid," said Harry awkwardly.

Hagrid gave a great sniff. "It'll be a long time before anyone doesn't have a little cry now an' then." He smiled weakly. "Now, where was I? I finished my errand and thought I'd jus' go ter the alchemists in Knockturn Alley for some o' those slug pellets and ter the Leaky Cauldron, ter say hello... Anyway, I go inter th' shop and there's Lucius Malfoy and Professor Snape talking. Malfoy had hold of Snape's sleeve, I remember. I say 'Evenin', perfessor.' He looked up sharp-like, I could see how white his face was. He said 'Hullo, Hagrid,' a bit more pleasant than he usually is. Glad ter see me, I think. 'Buying slug pellets?'

" 'Yes,' I say, lookin' at Malfoy. 'There's a lot o' slimy things crawling 'round that shouldn't be these days, perfessor.'

" 'Well, I must go,' says Snape.

" 'Not just yet,' says Malfoy. So I say, 'If th' perfessor says he's leaving, he means it.' And I reach fer Malfoy's hand, but he drops Snape's sleeve.

" 'This has been an interestin' day, Severus, thank you,' Malfoy goes, and Snape replies, 'Well, we've both learnt something, Mr Malfoy.' And off he runs.

"Then, if yer can believe it, Malfoy sez to me, 'Well, my man, a drop to slake yer thirst before you return? We can chat abou' the school. They know me at th' Hag's Head, jus' here.'

"So I tells him, 'I'm sure they do in that dark hole, Mr Malfoy, but I thought it was th' Hippogriff's Head _you_ wanted to drink in!' and he chuckles and walks out!"

"Did you tell Dumbledore about it when you got back?" asked Hermione.

"Jus' said I'd seen them two, but he didn' seem worried," answered Hagrid. He pulled out a turnip-sized watch. "I have ter go... Rodney'll be wanting his tea." He heaved himself up. "Thank yez," he said, looking at all three. "Come an' see me when yeh can."

"We will," they all replied as he shuffled out.

"Poor bloke," said Ron. "Dumbledore was like a father to him. I wish we could do more."

"We can," Harry told him firmly. "We can find out about that potion."

"Aren't they doing that in London?" asked Hermione. "And anyway, we already know, you can't make weakening or strengthening potions just like that. It's the kind of thing Grindelwald tried and even he couldn't do it. You'd have to be as dark as dark to try anyway."

"Everyone says they can't be made," replied Harry. "But do they really mean can't? Or do they mean shouldn't? Suppose Grindelwald did discover something? Or he could have rediscovered something from centuries back. They wouldn't have put it on the front page of the Daily Prophet, would they?"

"You really think Snape and that potion have something to do with Dumbledore dying, Harry?" asked Ron, curiously. "I mean, I hate him myself but this is way more than taking away house points or being a nasty git. This is evil."

"I don't know," admitted Harry. "But I can still hear Dumbledore calling 'Harry, get help!' I need to do _something_. Fudge is useless, so why shouldn't we at least try to find something out? The smell of that potion made my scar itch even before Voldemort turned up, I know it. It even made Snape sick."

"A potion like that won't be in the school library, will it?" said Hermione. "I remember Most Potente Potions and it wasn't in there."

"What about that book?" asked Ron in excitement. "You know, the one Snape was reading that day he didn't shout at Neville? You must remember that class – he had his nose stuck in it all lesson!"

"As much of his nose as would fit," scoffed Harry, remembering too.

"It did look very old and strange," agreed Hermione. "Well, it's worth a try. Where would he keep it? His office? It'll be empty now. And locked."

"So we use Floo powder and go through the fireplace!" Harry exclaimed, recalling how Snape had summoned Lupin to his office last year.

"We could go via the grate in Takushiki's office," announced Ron. "She doesn't lock it."

Hermione looked at him strangely. "Just how do you know _that_?" she demanded.

"I, er, happened to be passing by the other day and I saw Fred and George coming out," he admitted. "I was sure they were up to something but they swore, word of honour, that they'd just popped in to throw something away in her dustbin."


	14. The Potion, Part 5

Harry came to Defense the next afternoon, but found it hard to keep his mind on the discussion. The subject was Grindelwald, the dark wizard whom Dumbledore had defeated so many years before. Professor Takushiki was guiding the class's debate.

"Did Grindelwald start out on the dark side?" she asked, looking around the room.

"No, Professor, but he thought he was meant for greatness and he didn't mind how he got there," Lavender Brown ventured.

"What did he want, then?" she asked. Hands went up around the room.

"Wealth!" "Fame!" "Influence, Miss!" answers rang out.

"And are those bad things? Don't you want them, class?"

"I do - but not if I have to kill someone to get them!" put in Cho, with a musical laugh.

Is that what Voldemort's after, killing the Squibs? thought Harry. It seemed, well, pointless. He remembered the goals he had written for today's assignment: to know about my family, to belong somewhere, to have friends for life... Most people seem to have those already, he mused, is that why those other things seem so important to them?

"So, why did those goals lead Grindelwald into the Dark?" Takushiki was asking.

"He wanted ahh, power, Professor, especially over other people. To, ah, make them do, ah, whatever he wanted." That was Blaise Zabini.

"And to remove his rivals and enemies," put in Millicent Bulstrode.

Crabbe's hand was in the air. "And he never got enough power to satisfy him, Miss." He sneaked a look at Hermione, who flashed him a wide grin.

Does Snape want power? wondered Harry. To be Headmaster, maybe? Or more?

Pansy Parkinson leaned forward in her seat. "And Grindelwald wanted revenge. He killed Meister von Hoffman, his old teacher, because he'd tried to stop some of his experiments years before."

"Yes, we know he held deep grudges. Well done, Bulstrode, Crabbe and Zabini. Two points to Slytherin."

Snape holds grudges, said a voice in Harry's head. Against you, against your father, against your father's friends. Could he have had one against Dumbledore, about the Headmaster's plan?

"Now, Dienstmann said that Grindelwald wasn't evil after all," Takushiki went on. "That evil things were happening anyway, whatever Grindelwald did, and if he exploited them a little what did it really matter? He did them reluctantly, Dienstmann said, and to avoid greater bloodshed."

Harry heard Snape's voice again. _Must you take this potion and go ahead with your plan?_ And again _, Goodbye, Headmaster._ I don't know what the situation was, thought Harry, but Snape knew it. And perhaps he found a way to take advantage of it.

"Well, to exploit it, he had to cooperate with it," Dean Thomas said firmly. "And I don't believe for a minute the argument about bloodshed. He was only making himself rich!"

"Right. He was helping evil, miss. That's the same as doing it, isn't it?" Neville blushed and fell silent.

"What if you're bewitched by the Dark side, miss, no one can blame you then, can they?" That was Ron, thinking of Ginny, no doubt.

Takushiki turned to him. "That's why we're learning about spell detection and neutralisation this year, Ron, so none of you can get caught like that – unless you want to be."

Harry heard Hermione's voice. "Dienstmann said that Grindelwald was trying to do good by his experiments with the Dark as well, didn't he? That he was looking for a potion to strengthen magical powers. That would help people like Squibs, wouldn't it?"

"I think it's agreed the only powers he tried to increase were his own - but he never succeeded," Takushiki explained. "It's something that can't be done, any more than magical powers can be permanently decreased. They can be weakened temporarily but that's only a little, and it's only used in asylums where violent patients might harm themselves."

"Well," persisted Hermione, "if you can't weaken or strengthen someone's powers, can you share them around a bit more fairly? Wouldn't it make sense if people who had strong magical powers gave some of them to, say, Squibs?"

At those words, Ron's mouth dropped open – and Neville's, and Pansy's. Nearly the whole class fell into a stunned silence, leaving only the Muggle-born students looking at each other bewildered.

Professor Takushiki cleared her throat. "Class – Hermione obviously didn't mean anything by that, so calm down." She continued, "Hermione, you've just managed to blurt out the ultimate evil that any wizard or witch could attempt. I'm going to say the words only once: transferring magical power. It's far and away more…taboo…even than You-know-who's name. As far as anyone knows, it's impossible, and every attempt to do it over the centuries has been tragically unsuccessful and …has brought dreadful consequences. Somehow, even trying to do it messes about with the whole structure of matter near the attempt." She closed her eyes for a moment.

"You'll see it seventh year, when we study natural disasters, but for now..." she shook her head silently, "…we'll have to get back to Grindelwald. A nice safe topic." The class tittered nervously and began to settle down. "We have general agreement here that people are tempted into the Dark by various types of self-interest. But we're all self-interested sometimes, or stupid, or spiteful. Are we any different from Grindelwald?"

Neville put his hand up. "Most people know that those things are wrong. They don't keep on doing them and they're sorry."

The Defense mistress nodded. "Whereas those who go over to the Dark?..."

"They know what they're doing is wrong but they still do it anyway. They don't stop."

"Exactly." said Takushiki triumphantly. "No one is destined to be dark and one can always pull back along the path to it. But the first steps – and the last – along that road are always willing."

Harry sat and listened as Takushiki reminded them of Grindelwald's end: how Dumbledore had challenged him to a duel and Grindelwald had laughed and said that he would easily defeat so weak and unknown a wizard; how he had even sent Dumbledore a gravestone with his name carved on it. But when he had thought to surprise Dumbledore on the lonely island where he was then living, he had been overwhelmed and defeated, though Dumbledore modestly never told the whole story. But it was this that had made his reputation. He was the wizard who had defeated the Dark Lord in single combat .

Was that what Dumbledore had been talking about? Harry thought suddenly. Suppose Dumbledore had been preparing for another duel – but this time against Voldemort _. "I intend to do a little traveling, take care of some personal business…"_ he had said. He remembered McGonagall's response: "Already?" when he had run to her for help as Voldemort attacked. But what would have made his opponent come early? Once again he felt the mysterious itching in his scar that he had felt when Snape walked past with the Headmaster's potion.

A few hours later the three friends stood outside Professor Takushiki's door. Dinner had been over in minutes as no one in the school was in the mood for talking, apart from "Are you feeling better, Harry?" and Lavender Brown's conviction that she had foreseen the whole thing in a teacup a month earlier. They had only had to wait to make sure that Takushiki had gone to the staff room with the other teachers. A meeting had been scheduled that night; Sprout had remarked during Herbology that it was expected to go long.

Hermione looked at Harry anxiously. "You're sure you feel all right?" she whispered. "Remember, Madam Pomfrey said she was counting on me to make sure you didn't overdo it."

Harry rolled his eyes in exasperation. "Hermione, when are you going to realise that the world will not collapse if you stop worrying about it!" he said sharply. "I'm fine! Let's go!"

They entered the office; Hermione quickly ignited the grate and each taking a handful of Floo powder from the ginger jar on Takushiki's desk, they threw it onto the flames and announced "Snape's office." There was a whoosh, an impression of whirling darkness, and they tumbled out into the dank chill of Snape's dungeon office.

"Lumos," whispered Harry. The room was so cold and still that he could hear the blood pounding in his ears. Through the gloom he could see the jars of specimens that Snape kept stacked up around the office; he hoped he was only imagining that a gristly white lump in one of them was beating.

"There are books on that top shelf there," pointed Hermione. They crept over.

"But there are at least fifty of them and they all look the same!" said Ron. "This is hopeless!"

Glancing up, Harry saw that most of the volumes were bound in black leather and covered with strange symbols. Few had titles on their spines.

Suddenly he had an idea. "Give me that chair," he said. Ron moved it over and he clambered up so that his head was level with the top shelf. Almost at once his scar began to pulse. The feeling got stronger and stronger as he ran his hand along the volumes stacked there until he came to one small book right at the end. His head reeled and he caught at the bookcase for support.

Hermione gasped. "Don't touch it – it might be enchanted!"

Harry shook his head to clear it. He stepped down, breathing hard. "You check it. It's…I don't know. I can't get near it."

Hermione took his place on the chair and poked at the book carefully with her wand. "Right. Oh, that's not so hard. _Interrupte incantatem_.." She stepped down. "Try it now."

Harry climbed up again. This time his scar itched furiously, just as it had outside Dumbledore's office. He gritted his teeth, prepared himself for the expected stabbing pain in the head, and pulled the book out.

The cover was coarse, more like untreated hide than cured leather, and it felt strangely hot to his hand. It was all he could do to stop himself from dropping it in disgust but he hopped down and tossed the book quickly onto Snape's empty desk.

"You'd better read it," he said to Hermione and stepped away a few paces to where the pain in his head was bearable.

Hermione picked it up gingerly and inspected the spine as Ron raised his wand to shine on it. "This could be it – it has the same strange mix of letters in the title." She opened it. Inside the front cover was a small label. "Property of the Institute of Potions," she read out. "Well, he shouldn't have kept it if it belongs to a library."

"Yeah, forget about being in league with the Dark, we'll just report him to the book police!" muttered Ron. "Get on with it!"

Even from a distance, Harry could see that the book was not printed but was more like a notebook. Its thick yellow pages were covered with writing and symbols in many different hands.

"It's very old," said Hermione, bending closer to it. "Some of this writing looks medieval. It's as if everyone who's ever owned it has added a new potions formula to it; but most of them are so complicated I can't even follow the introductions."

"That one's in English," said Ron, pointing over her shoulder. "Read it out."

"This be the potion called Upas Milk," Hermione began, "for it useth an single measure of the Upas tree's sap, which tree, many a traveller sayeth, will kill any, man or beast, who sleepeth beneath it, from the very poison fumes that rise off it, being like a steam or sweat. But he who will brave the mortal danger in getting _and in using_ this sap may use it and so make such a draught as will certes weaken his enemy be he man or child, by the same dose; and most subtely, for the potion does not kill of itself but maketh the drinker drowsy and weak, so that whatsoever powers he possesseth run out of him like water from a broken bowl. No power of limb nor will doth it abate, but the magick vertu alone. It is a potion most suitable to be made by those of dark and melancholy humours."

There was silence for a moment. Finally Harry spoke. "A potion that makes you weak, so you can be attacked. That gives off dangerous fumes."

Ron paled. "Remember Snape coughing that night we went past his office? Peeves was asking him what he was brewing."

"I can't believe it." Hermione sagged into Snape's chair, near tears. "I can't believe he'd do that to Dumbledore, not after he trusted him. Oh, what are we going to do?"

"Let's get out of here," said Ron firmly. "Then I'll send an owl to my father."

Harry shook his head. "Who's going to believe us? Dumbledore said it himself last year – no one will take our word against Snape's. And even if your father does believe us, what can he do without evidence? We have to keep looking."

"What about the ingredients?" Ron asked. "The Institute of Potions would have records on whoever bought the restricted ones. We can even have a look round here right now."

Hermione brightened, and pulled a piece of paper toward her. "I'll make a list while you look. And there's a bookmark toward the back – shall I copy that page out, too?" She set her wand in a test tube rack and reached for a pen.

Harry snorted. "Probably something for his next victim! Go ahead, Hermione, it can't hurt." He crossed to the opposite wall, where hundreds of jars of every size were crowded together on the ancient oaken shelving. "Let's see: umber, umbilicus of tiger, uranyl acetate, urtica sativa, valeriana officinalis, vanadium pentoxide… hey, where is it?" His confusion was interrupted by a cry of triumph. He turned to see Ron brandishing a looseleaf notebook.

"It's his purchase record! We've got him now!" cried Ron. "October 18, Agrippinilla Alchemical Supply: freeze-dried squid ink, boomslang stomach lining, extract of venomous tentacula, tri-N-butyl phosphate, balm of Gilead, horseradish peroxidase, curare... Damn! It's not here either."

Hermione looked up. "It wouldn't be on the shelf," she said, one finger on the page. "There's a note in the margin saying that the sap has to be stored frozen. And if you bought Dark Arts ingredients, would you write them down on a list anyone could see? Anyway, the squid ink and tentacula extract match, and the Institute of Potions would have the alchemist's sales record. All we have to do is check."

A loud click came from the direction of the door, and they whirled in terror. Then it sounded again as the minute hand on Snape's wall clock moved past the hour. Harry breathed a sigh of relief. "Let's get out of here."

"Right." said Hermione, replacing the book on the shelf and tapping it with her wand. " _Reverte incantatem_. Is everything where it was?"

Harry and Ron nodded. Floo powder in hand, the three friends stepped into the fireplace and were gone.


	15. The Potion, part 6

A week after Dumbledore's memorial service, Harry sat in the Quidditch Field stands with Ron and Hermione, ready to watch Slytherin play Hufflepuff. The crowd was subdued. Above them, Lee Jordan was reading out the team rosters in a low voice. Professor McGonagall was not at his side but, Harry thought, it didn't seem as if she would be needed this once. The afternoon was damp and dark; he would hardly have been able to see the players circling above if it were not for their bright robes against the clouds.

Professor Takushiki picked her way across the wet grass to the staff section but seeing herself alone there, she climbed into the stands to join the little group.

"You don't mind if I watch with you, do you?" she asked. "I'm on my own over there." It was true; Snape was still in London and none of the other professors were attending, apart from Madam Hooch, the referee.

"We don't mind," said Ron, standing up so that Takushiki could squeeze onto the bench next to him. She smiled her thanks. "How are you, Harry?" she said quietly.

Harry shrugged. His memories of Dumbledore's death were still playing through his head like a loop of film. And now there were the questions he kept asking himself since the discovery of the book in Snape's office. He and his two friends had debated until late that night about what it all might mean.

"None of us likes Snape," Hermione had reasoned, "but why would he go over to You-know-who now?"

"You saw him at the end of last term," Ron had countered. "He went mental. And I'm sure he guessed that it was Dumbledore who let us help Sirius escape, and made him look an idiot in front of Fudge."

"Dumbledore trusted him," answered Hermione.

"My father trusted Pettigrew," said Harry.

In the end they could agree on nothing but waiting to see what would come of the investigation in London, providing that it did not take too long.

"What did you think of the remembering service?" Takushiki continued.

The school had gathered together in the Great Hall a few days before to hear speeches and reminiscences from those who had known Dumbledore: little Professor Flitwick, trembling from head to toe with emotion; a strange magus from London with an old fashioned turn of phrase, who told them that although "Master Dumbledore's staff was broken, his spirit was strong"; a tall young witch with an Italian accent, Dumbledore's granddaughter, whom McGonagall fussed over quite uncharacteristically; and several others, including a string quartet.

"I liked it when we all sang the school song at the end," replied Ron.

"There was a bit more laughing than I thought there'd be," added Hermione. Thinking of Fred and George's speech, Harry nodded in agreement. Secretly he had hoped that Sirius and Lupin would have found some way to attend but he had watched the entrance for them in vain.

Takushiki patted Hermione's shoulder. "That's exactly what he would have wanted," she said. "When someone's lived a good, long life, you don't just have to cry when they go. You have to laugh, too, about all the good times you shared."

"Where's Professor McGonagall, Miss?" Hermione asked. "She's never had to miss a match before. Has she had to go to London as well?"

"She's busy working on something with Professor Flitwick," explained Takushiki. "I don't suppose it will hurt to tell you; they're charming and transfiguring the papers that were... damaged in Dumbledore's office. If we can see what he was working on so hard it may give us a clue about what happened afterwards."

There was a kind of "harrump" in Harry's ear, as if a polite elephant were clearing its trunk. He turned to find Crabbe standing in the row behind, shyly looking at the seat next to Hermione. Harry waved him on. Crabbe nodded his thanks and sat down as Hermione blushed and the wooden benching groaned.

On the pitch, Madam Hooch blew her whistle. "Match begins," announced Lee Jordan listlessly. "One correction to the team list. Blaise Zabini, reserve seeker, Slytherin, replaces Draco Malfoy, first team seeker."

"Malfoy's not playing?" asked Ron. Malfoy had returned to school two days before, pale but bandage free.

"Yes," said Crabbe. "Montague told him that he hadn't practised for a week and he couldn't just walk into the game. Draco said he was going to tell his father and Professor Snape, and Montague said 'Well, better start walking, then, because I don't see them anywhere 'round here!' He's really mad!"

"Zabini doesn't look too bad though, does he?" commented Harry. "All right, he's a bit of a strange shape for a seeker, with those long legs..."

"Yeah, but he can sort of air-surf with the soles of his feet, they're so large," added Ron.

Millicent Bulstrode scored and there was a half-hearted ripple of applause. Harry saw that Goyle was hunched on an unsheltered bench in front of them, the rain that was now falling splashing off his vast shoulders.

"Do you mind if he sits up here too?" Crabbe asked. "No," everyone chorused.

"I mind," drawled a cold voice in the row behind. "I thought I had you better trained than that."

Harry turned around. Malfoy stood behind them, scowling, his Firebolt still clutched in one hand.

"Go and sit with him," he ordered Crabbe, pointing to Goyle.

"I'm OK here," replied Crabbe mildly. "Anyway, that's where it's raining, I'll get wet."

"You need a wash, look what you're sitting next to," retorted Malfoy and Hermione's eyes widened as the words sank in.

Ron, Harry and Crabbe got to their feet. But so did Professor Takushiki. "Draco, go share your umbrella with Gregory," she told him quietly.

Malfoy ignored her. "I said 'move!'" he spat. "Or do you want me to say something to my father about you as well as that moron Montague?"

"There's no need for that, Draco," replied Crabbe. "I'll stay here, thanks."

"Yes, stay, Vincent," added Hermione shyly.

"Shut up, mudblood," Malfoy snapped back.

Harry stood up again. "Push off then! Run and tell Daddy," he said, reaching back for his wand. "Say that word again and I'll really give you something to complain about."

"At least I've got a father to go to," yelled Malfoy. "One who didn't get himself killed by being stupid!"

"What's the difference, yours might as well be dead for all he cares about you – he didn't even come to see you when Voldemort got you!" Harry shouted back and immediately regretted it. But before he could apologise, Takushiki pushed her way between them.

"Draco, Harry, you've both had a bad time, or else I'd be giving you detentions," she told them firmly. "Now Draco, go!"

Malfoy sloped away, still scowling.

Just then, there was a great roar from the crowd. Harry looked up; one of the Hufflepuff chasers, in a desperate attempt to score, had flown so close to the goalposts that his broom had gone right through and he had been left clinging to the hoop. Meanwhile, the riderless broomstick sped steadily on, straight back to the school. It disappeared from sight and then there was a loud "thump" as if something had been hit.

"Match suspended!" called Madam Hooch. "Hold on! We'll have you floating like a feather in no time, young man!"

Harry looked back to the castle. A large portion of the crowd was streaming back to try and find out where the broom had landed. At the edge of the pitch, Montague and Malfoy seemed to be having a kind of tug of war with the Slytherin team's brooms.

"It won't restart for a while – let's go see what happened," suggested Ron. He and Harry began to walk back to the school with Hermione and Crabbe following behind.

As they neared the castle, Seamus Finnegan rushed up to meet them. "Incredible!" he exclaimed. "A chunk of the parapet was knocked off. It fell in the middle of the rose garden." He stretched his arms out as wide as they could go. "It was this big!"

Filch was inspecting the boulder when they arrived. He seemed unusually cheerful, considering the circumstances. Absentmindedly, he patted the chest pocket of his shirt, which appeared to contain a flowered pink note card.

Madam Pomfrey bustled out of the door. "You'd better get that thing out of here, Argus," she said officiously.

Filch glared at her, poking at the stone with his broom. "I'm not touching it – it'll put my back out," he snarled. "Just have to hope one of the little devils gets detention soon. And I'll have to get a stone mason in from Hogsmeade, special, to do the repair." He fingered the corner of the card again, and his face brightened.

"Well, make sure he doesn't carve a pig on it," instructed Madam Pomfrey.

"Dumbledore really loved that garden," said Ron sadly. "He was always out there strolling among the rosebushes. And now there's a ruddy great rock in the middle of it!"

"A rock?" asked Hermione. "Oh my! A _rock with a k!_ Sorry, I have to go and ask Parvati something about divination." She sped off.

"What was all that about?" exclaimed Harry, bewildered. "She can't stand divination! She doesn't even like Parvati!"

"She's ever so clever, I just don't bother wondering," answered Crabbe wistfully, watching her go.

Back in the rose garden, Filch and Madam Pomfrey were still arguing over the stone.

"Are you sure you can't move it, Argus?" she was saying.

"Call yourself a healer, do you? You know perfectly well a human back won't stand that kind of strain," Filch snorted. He turned his head to look past Harry. "I don't have to move it, do I, Professor?"

Harry turned to see whom he was addressing. Standing behind him was Snape.


	16. Secrets, part 1

Chapter 6: Secrets

"The Ministry's let him go!" hissed Ron. "What's going on?"

"Hello, Severus," said Madam Pomfrey cautiously. "Back for long?"

"Permanently, it would appear," answered Snape, permitting himself a thin-lipped smile. "The enquiry is finished. Is Professor McGonagall in the school? I have a letter for her from the Board of Governors."

Harry and the rest of the pupils watched as Snape walked up the marble steps into the school.

"So much for letting Fudge sort things out," he muttered to Ron. "Let's go."

They found Hermione in the library questioning a suspicious Parvati Patil.

"It's not the kind of thing you just _explain_ , Hermione," she was saying. "People need to have a sympathetic aura in order to receive the mystic meaning. And not to just be pulling my leg."

"All I want to know," persisted Hermione, "is this: can a piece of stone be a sign of a future event? Of course, I can always go and ask Lavender if you don't know..."

"Yes it can!" snapped Parvati. "And now, if you don't mind, you're clouding my inner eye." And she swept out.

"Dumbledore _was_ going on a journey!" Hermione announced to Harry and Ron.

"We know, he was retiring," said Harry.

"No, a journey he would have to go on when he got a sign; the sign of the rock," answered Hermione. "Remember that day after the Gryffindor/Slytherin Quidditch match? He said he had to get his work finished - whatever that was - before his rock arrived. And what's a rock?"

"A big flappy bird, Charlie flies around on one all the time in Egypt," said Ron, puzzled.

" Not a roc, a _rock,_ " explained Hermione. "Like that piece of parapet! Dumbledore didn't think that he'd be leaving Hogwarts until that rock fell down. Of course he died before then."

"'Voldemort, you're early'" said Harry, remembering Dumbledore's words. "He was expecting Voldemort to attack; but not until later - not until he'd left the school."

"So who tipped You-Know-Who off so he could get here first?" asked Ron. There was silence; each knew what the others were thinking but did not want to be the first to voice it. It seemed too terrible to admit. Finally Ron said, "Snape is back. We just saw him walking into the school."

"Maybe Fudge is having him watched?" suggested Hermione.

Ron shrugged. "Fudge is useless. Or he's in on it too."

"Whatever 'it' is exactly," added Harry.

Suddenly there was a crackle and Professor McGonagall's voice came magically through the walls.

"All staff and pupils proceed immediately to the Great Hall, please. There is an important announcement. Immediately, please."

"Now what?" said Harry as the three friends joined the stream of pupils heading down the corridor.

The Great Hall was full of excited whispers when they arrived and made their way toward the tables already laid for dinner later. Even the ghosts were floating overhead. Harry could hear Professor Flitwick and Professor Sinistra murmuring together behind him.

"There was a letter from Fudge...it must be to announce the new headmaster!"

"Headmistress, I think, Papilio!"

"Oh, so do I!"

"That must be it!" said Harry to Ron and Hermione, as they turned off toward the Gryffindor tables. "Professor McGonagall is going to be the new head teacher! Finally, some good news!" His words were quickly taken up and spread around the Hall.

The chatter died down a little as Professor McGonagall emerged from the side chamber. Her face was white and strained. Behind her walked Snape, looking equally uncomfortable. Harry had a sudden, wonderful vision that she was also to announce that Snape was to be sacked and hauled off to Azkaban – so that the powers that be could ask him the awkward questions he was so fond of putting to his pupils – but not before he had apologised to every child he had ever sneered at in front of the whole school. Silence fell as Professor McGonagall came forward to address them.

"Staff, ladies and gentlemen," she began. Harry saw that she was holding a piece of paper between trembling hands. "I think that the best thing I can do is read out the letter I received today from Mr Fudge." She bowed her head.

"She's so modest, she's blushing," said Hagrid from the staff table in a loud stage whisper.

"Following the tragic demise of your much loved Headmaster, Albus Dumbledore, (the letter read), I have set aside my own grief in order to settle the question of who shall replace him. For like a great ship, a great school needs a captain. Having consulted widely, I have made my choice. I have found a person who is steeped in the traditions of Hogwarts…"

"She certainly is," nodded Neville, sitting next to Harry.

"…someone who is already a head of house,"

"The best house!" said Ron gleefully.

" …someone who will continue to make Hogwarts a beacon in times of darkness."

"So what are we, a boat or a bonfire?" asked George jovially, further down the table.

"I have therefore today appointed…"

"Minerva McGonagall, bless her!" roared Hagrid, unable to contain himself any longer. He waved his empty glass in the air and there was a general cheer.

Professor McGonagall looked up. "Please let me finish," she said quietly and the Hall fell silent.

"I have today appointed - on the advice of the Hogwarts governors and their new chairman Mr Lucius Malfoy - Professor Severus Snape to be the new Headmaster of Hogwarts, with immediate effect."

Harry felt his jaw drop with a hundred others. In the silence that followed the announcement he saw, high above him, the Bloody Baron lean slyly over and tug at Nearly Headless Nick's ruff.

The Slytherins were giving each other delighted little nudges as the implications dawned on them. Harry forced himself to think. So was this what Lucius Malfoy and Snape had been discussing in the alchemist's shop? No wonder Snape had turned so white when Hagrid came in. He didn't look it now that the announcement had been made. The potions master was as close to happy as Harry had ever seen him; not even catching himself and Ron at the Whomping Willow had made him look so triumphant. He's got what he wanted, thought Harry cynically. Wonder what he had to pay for it.

"Maybe Charlie will take us out to Egypt with him?" George was saying to Fred over the general horrified mutterings. "That should be far enough."

"I say we stay and fight!" answered his brother grimly. "This is going to be war."

"Cheer up, Neville," Harry whispered to the trembling boy beside him. "Think grandmother's hat!"

Neville gave him a sickly grin. "That was boggarts, Harry," he said. "This is real."

"This must mean that Fudge is in on it!" Hermione was saying to Ron. "Can't we tell your father?"

"Dad would go rushing in and confront him, and then what?" answered Ron. "Oh no! Look who's turned up now!"

Harry followed his gaze. Lucius Malfoy was standing at the back of the hall, a smug grin on his face.

At the staff table Hagrid was giving great heaving sighs as Professor Flitwick tried to comfort him. "I's no' fair," he gulped. "Minerva's th'best one of yez now that Dumbledore's gone - oh, I'm sorry ter yeh, professor…"

"There, there, we're all sorry," murmured Professor Flitwick.

Snape was walking down the staff table briskly shaking hands with the other teachers and receiving their muted congratulations. Hypatia Vector looked as if a cauldron had blown up in her face. When Snape came to Hecate, Harry saw that their hands barely touched and that Snape did not meet her eyes. He did not speak to Hagrid at all. But there was almost a swagger about him. It made Harry clench his fists under the table.

"This is wrong," muttered Fred. He picked up a spoon and began to slowly tap it against his glass. After a moment, George joined him. Up and down the Gryffindor table voices fell silent as the stealthy "chink, chink" reached them. Then the Ravenclaws and even the Hufflepuffs began to join in. Only the Slytherins sat aloof and uneasy.

Professor McGonagall opened her mouth as if to protest and then glanced at Snape. The potions master strode forward and barked "Silence!"

Instantly the hall was still. Even Fred and George froze in their seats. Harry saw that the slight traces of happiness that he had seen were disappearing from Snape's face. This was the Snape he had hated from his earliest days at Hogwarts but now made grimmer and more terrifying by real power.

Snape's eyes swept over the room, falling on the happy Slytherins, the shocked Gryffindors, on Hagrid still hiccupping at the end of the table. Finally they rested on Harry. Harry stared back for as long as he dared. Then Snape looked abruptly away. When he began to speak it was in a soft whisper that nevertheless filled the hall.

"I am not here to be defied. Understand, the time for foolish, childish prattle is over. Those of you who are sensible will know that rules are to be obeyed. Those of you who think that rules do not apply to you will learn otherwise, and swiftly. What you will get from me is order , not whims. What I expect from you is obedience, not wilfulness."

He stood in silence for a moment. The ceiling-sky above had darkened and the candles were flickering, making every shadow tremble and dodge. The only clear true thing in the hall, it seemed, was Snape's thin black figure. Then he dismissed them with a curt nod. The pupils filed out in silence, Harry amongst them. His mind was racing furiously over Lucius and Snape, the potion and Voldemort's attack. As soon as he was back in the common room he and his friends would have to decide on a plan of attack. He had almost reached the doors when a cold voice behind him spoke his name.

"Potter." Harry turned. Snape had followed him. He's not wasting much time, thought Harry, aware of Ron and Hermione standing anxiously to one side. "You too will notice some changes, Mr Potter," said Snape with a twisted smile. "You have an invisibility cloak. Where is it? I want it handed over immediately."

Harry thought fast. He could not do without the cloak; besides, the thought of Snape touching it was revolting. He would have to lie – or at least, mislead. But as he opened his mouth, Lucius Malfoy appeared at Snape's elbow. Draco was hovering in the background looking half proud and half scared.

"Congratulations, Severus," Lucius said, smiling blandly. "Of course, I had no doubt that my recommendation would count with Fudge."

"My understanding was that all the governors were in agreement," answered Snape. "I am busy now, Mr Malfoy..."

"Naturally - still, that kind of agreement doesn't come by itself," said Lucius. "But of course you have much to think about. A new potions master for instance?"

"I shall continue to teach that class myself," replied Snape. "There may be other staff changes of course."

"Of course," nodded Lucius. "Where would we find someone with your knowledge of rare and unusual - very rare and unusual - potions? I know the late Headmaster appreciated it. And I imagine it would be very annoying to have a new potions master running around in your old laboratory; untidying the more unusual ingredients and rifling through the formulas; who knows what damage they might do I mean?"

"It would be of very little consequence, Mr Malfoy; the average wizard - the average potions maker - would scarcely understand what I have worked on."

"Great shock, though wasn't it, Dumbledore dying like that? You were almost the last person to see him alive, I believe?"

"Your son was the last person," replied Snape. "As for shocked: I am seldom shocked."

Malfoy tugged at his father's sleeve and whispered in his ear. Lucius sighed and turned back to Snape.

"There is a small immediate matter; Draco tells me that due to some misunderstanding he is no longer on the Slytherin Quidditch team. I'm sure a word from you can settle that."

"No," said Snape.

"No?" spluttered Lucius. Harry could see that while he had not really cared about Draco's request, Lucius did not like to have the favour refused so bluntly.

"Unless there is some disciplinary matter then I would not intervene. It is a question for Montague." Snape turned back to Harry. "Potter, if you wish to continue playing Quidditch, where is that cloak?"

"I didn't bring it to school this year," began Harry.

"You left it with your Muggle relatives?" sneered Snape. "At least put some effort into lying, Potter, I..."

"If Potter's disobedience means he cannot play Quidditch , then I would have thought that Draco's...I might say his family's helpfulness might mean that he can," interrupted Lucius Malfoy. "After all it is a very small thing to ask in the scheme of things."

There was a pause. Then, "Don't think I have forgotten you, Potter," muttered Snape. Taking Lucius Malfoy's elbow he marched with him out of the hall.

"Sounds like Lucius thinks he's owed something," observed Ron, watching the two men in the distance. "They aren't very friendly for conspirators, are they?"

"Remember Prefects Who Kept Power," Hermione told him. "It is seldom that those who were your friends when you fought for power will remain your friends when you have gained it."

They made their way out of the school and into the grounds. It was a cold evening already dark and they lit their wands in order to see.

"What will you do about the cloak?" asked Hermione.

"Hide it properly and say it's at Gringotts," answered Harry. "Hagrid would probably keep it for me – he did last summer, after all. Or I could put it in a suit of armour."

They had reached the Whomping Willow. Two figures were already walking near it, talking quietly together. Going closer they saw that they were Professor McGonagall and Professor Takushiki.

"It was cruel of them to make you announce it," Takushiki was saying. "Everyone knows you were expected to succeed Dumbledore".

"Lucius Malfoy thought that it would be best," answered Professor McGonagall. "I think he was afraid that I'd refuse to accept Severus's appointment and lead some kind of revolt. But I would never do anything to harm the school. I don't like the situation - especially Lucius Malfoy, Dumbledore had no time for him. But I have to think of the children and stay."

They walked a few paces in silence. Then Hecate said, "I'm not sure that I will – or if I'll have the choice. I love this school already. But I have a feeling I shouldn't have told Professor Snape that potioneering was glorified cooking a while back."

Professor McGonagall gave her a watery smile. "At least you never gave him detention for putting swelling solution in the evening meal at the Gryffindor table. Oh, I know I shouldn't say it but he was such a _nasty_ little boy."


	17. Secrets, part 2

"I bet Snape's going to sack Hecate," said Ron gloomily. "He told Filch he wanted to, remember?"

"Suppose Dumbledore speaks to her though," asked Hermione. "Snape knows she can do that, doesn't he? He'll probably wait until he thinks she's heard something and then…" she broke off.

"What are we going to do?" asked Harry. "We know that Dumbledore was expecting some kind of attack, we know it came early, we know Snape gave him that potion just before it happened. Now he's Headmaster and Lucius is sniffing around."

"But who can we tell?" answered Ron. "What can we prove? There's Hagrid but they'd just say he was an old drunk."

"And Fudge - we don't know if we can trust him."

They trailed back to the Great Hall to eat dinner in silence.

On the way out, they approached a knot of students gathered near the door. At the center stood Draco Malfoy, revelling in the attention, his sharp face flushed with self-importance.

"What the…" grumbled Ron, as they skirted around the edge of the group.

"There he goes now!" crowed Malfoy, pointing at Harry. "Hey, Potter, would you like to hear the story of what really went on in Dumbledore's office?" Harry shook his head and moved toward the door. "Oh, not up to it, are you?" demanded Malfoy, smirking. "A little too close to home, after what happened to Mum and Dad?"

Ron nudged him. "He's asking for it. Let's hear what he says."

"All right, Malfoy, you talked me into it. Go ahead," said Harry dully. He leaned back against the stone wall as Malfoy returned to his audience.

"Dumbledore asked me to meet with him first, and he left the _famous_ Harry Potter to wait on the bench." He checked Harry for a reaction, then continued. "We talked for, ah, twenty minutes or so – about my father and his important work, and about the special potion Snape gave him right before our conversation."

"What was in the potion?" someone asked.

"He told me it was something to strengthen his powers," explained Malfoy confidentially. "But he never got to drink much of it, because boom! You-know-who and a dozen Dark wizards flew right through the window and straightaway attacked us with lightning bolts and wand rope." He paused for effect.

"What happened?" several voices demanded.

"While the great Harry Potter fled down the hall, to get help – _he says_ – Dumbledore and I whipped out our wands and started a counterattack. We battled side by side, deflecting lightning bolts and shriveling the wand-rope. Books and papers were bursting into flame all over the

Headmaster's office. As we fought I was pulling Dumbledore over to the window to try to save him. We were almost there when the Dark Lord himself launched a huge coil of wand-rope and his minions let loose a shower of thunderbolts. I managed to deflect all the bolts, but the rope had wound completely around Dumbledore's legs, and he couldn't move. As he fell backward toward me he cried out, 'Save yourself, Draco! You have a great destiny before you!' Of course I said no, but he told me, 'The world needs you, not only for your noble bloodlines but your outstanding talents'…then he turned his back on our attackers and pushed me out the window!"

As Harry watched the group listening eagerly, outrage swelled up in him until his heart threatened to burst out of his chest. Hermione leaned close to him. "Not again, Harry!" she said urgently, putting a hand on his arm. He nodded.

Draco launched into the finale of his performance, his pale eyes boring into Harry's. "I was... the last one to see him alive. When the teachers came to pull me out of the bushes under the window, they had to go looking for Potter and d'you know where they found him? Hiding – in Hagrid's hut!" As shouts of laughter broke out, Malfoy spread his hands. "I guess that's all," he finished, turning to Harry. "Did you like the story, Potter?" he asked loudly.

"Not bad," agreed Harry stiffly, trying to control the fury in his voice. "Much more interesting than the version you told Minister Fudge in the infirmary."

"Yeah, you ought to publish it, Draco," Hermione cut in acidly. "How about _Vespers with Voldemort?_ " At the end of the corridor a familiar tall figure swung into view. "Here comes Headmaster Snape – I'm sure he'd like to hear it too."

Draco made a show of checking his watch, then hopped off the chair and darted out the door, followed by hoots of laughter. Two of Cho's roommates passed Harry and his friends. "If it really happened that way, I'll eat my broomstick!" said one. Her companion giggled. "At least one person learnt something from Gilderoy Lockhart!"

Outside the castle, under the clouds, the wind was swift and cold. It caught at their robes as Harry, Ron and Hermione made their way across the grounds toward the forest. A frost had moved in after rain, and their feet were heavy with mud before they reached Hagrid's cabin. Beyond the damp stone wall everything in Hagrid's garden looked depressingly dead; in the yard, the only green thing remaining was a tall weed. Under its shadow two gnomes with sharp sticks busied themselves breaking apart the last sound pumpkin in the field. Harry knocked at the door, and hearing no answer, pushed it open uneasily. Inside the cabin it was dark and chill. Hagrid was snoring in his ancient armchair, a bearskin across his lap. As they entered, Fang rose from his place at Hagrid's feet, and shook himself. Hagrid woke with a start.

"Are you all right, Hagrid?" asked Harry, peering into his face.

Hagrid heaved himself up, yawning, and dragged the bearskin to his bedstead. "Bit o' flu, I suppose. Came on me sudden-like this morning when I got back from shopping. Ar, I should ha' known, haven' bin feeling myself fer days."

Ron and Hermione built a fire and lit the lamps, while Harry made tea and set out plates and the contents of Hagrid's string bag, adding a few Honeydukes cakes they had brought with them from the school. He brought tea and a plate to Hagrid and watched with satisfaction as Hagrid cradled the mug in his enormous hands. Hermione frowned at him. "Hagrid, have you been sleeping at _all_?"

The giant shook his head. "How'd yer know?" he asked sadly. "S'truth, I wake up nights thinkin' about Dumbledore, an' I jus' drag around all day. Hogwarts is changing, no doubt abou' it. Yeh shoulda seen how this place livened up when ol' Dippet retired an' Dumbledore took over. And now…" he shook his head. "Snape pokin' his nose inter ever'one's business, 's if we didn' know our jobs, an' never a kind word from the man." Hagrid paused and wiped his eyes. "I've bin thinkin' about leavin'," he admitted, a sob in his voice, "but I don't know if I could fin' another situration."

"Well, if you're leaving, I will too," announced Harry. "Snape and Malfoy – they both make me sick."

Hermione's eyes filled with tears. Ron took a step forward. "What!"

Hagrid's jaw dropped. "Don't yeh do it, Harry!" he pleaded. "It's not like Dumbledore was yer only frien' here. Yeh can't fergit Ron an' Hermione, an' McGonagall, an' yer Miss Hecate."

"And you, too," Hermione reminded him.

"He's going to sack Hecate, Hagrid – he's been wanting to do it all year, " protested Ron. "You should have seen him in the hallway the other day, badgering her about her lessons."

Hagrid got up and took two more slices of cake. "I wouldn' worry abou' her," he advised, with a trace of a grin. "If ever a lass could tak' care of hersel', it's Miss Hecate. No, it's you I'm worried about, Harry. What would yeh do, go back to those Muggles? It's not easy making yer own way as a youngster. I could of never done it if it weren't fer Dumbledore."

"You still miss him a lot, don't you, Hagrid?" asked Ron.

Hagrid blew his nose. "He was like a father ter me, 'specially after my own dad died. Known him practic'ly all my life - so long I took him fer granted. An' I owe him ever'thing. He's only been gone a month and I'm already forgettin' things about him. Don' even have a keepsake t' remember him by, and Snape's not abou' ter give me anything."

"How could Dumbledore have known to give you something?" asked Ron.

"He knew," admitted Hagrid sorrowfully. "All those errands he sent me on – he was puttin' his affairs in order. I know he meant to give each o' yeh something – an' said he'd put somethin' aside fer me as well - but we'll niver know now." He looked up sharply. "Yer not surprised." It was a statement, not a question.

"Er, Hagrid," Hermione began delicately. "We figured that out when the stone fell off the parapet. He had told us that he needed to finish his work before his rock arrived. Was that what he was expecting?"

"He was planning some travel, too," put in Ron. "What about that?"

Hagrid's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Jus' how much _do_ yeh know?" he demanded.

"Not enough to have helped him," said Harry sadly. "But we think we know what was in that potion."

"Won't you tell us what you know?" asked Hermione.

Hagrid looked around the room. "Yeh really shouldn' be hearin' this..." he began. "He tol' me half way through September that he only had a few weeks left an' that he was goin' ter do battle with You-know-who before th' end. It was t' be on an island near Azkaban an' I had ter go there an' set it up. What I still dunno is how he foun' out."

"Hecate talks to dead people," explained Harry quietly. "She gave him some sort of message from Nicolas Flamel the day before lessons started. That's what he must have meant when he said he was going to settle down with some old friends."

Ron moved closer. "Hagrid, you told us about those rumors that the Dark forces were getting stronger. Did Dumbledore ever say anything to you about that? Or about Squibs?"

Hagrid shook his head dumbly. "Not a thing. Nor anythin' about that potion. But the rumours are all over, Harry – th' Dark Lord's preparin' to return. Tha's why yeh gotta stay here. Safest place in th'world, Dumbledore used ter say. At least last out th' year, won't yeh?"

"With Snape as Headmaster? And Malfoy on the board of governors? Hagrid, you've got to be joking!" Harry burst out.

"Listen!" growled Hagrid. "You don' like Snape, and he don' like you, but none o' that makes him a Dark wizard. If he'd gone over to You-know-who, his firs' move would be to turn yeh over ter him, wouldn' it? But it's been a month now, an' he hasn' done it, has he? Don't yeh think McGonagall would get yeh out o' here if she suspected anythin'?" Hagrid sighed and scratched the back of his neck. "Look, Professor Snape's bin here since he was a kid, 'cept for a couple years at the Potions Institute. Don't yeh think we'd all know if he suddenly turned?"

Harry shrugged. He didn't have an answer for Hagrid, only a deep suspicion that Snape wished him harm. He finished the rest of his tea and cake in silence, as Hagrid returned to reminiscing about Dumbledore with the others.

"Poor Hagrid," remarked Hermione, as they started back to the school. "It's not the flu – he's still in the dumps about losing Dumbledore. I wonder if we can get him something of Dumbledore's. You know he would cherish it."

Ron shook his head doubtfully. "No, he needs something new to think about. Remember how cheerful he was when he had Bucky – and Norbert?" He broke into a triumphant grin. "What Hagrid needs is a new pet!"


	18. Secrets, part 3

"A pet for Hagrid, what?" exclaimed Hermione. "Are you having us on? When he can't tell lovable from lethal? Someone will really get hurt, and then Snape will sack him for sure!"

An idea came to Harry, who brightened for the first time that day. "Hey – how about Fawkes? You don't suppose Snape would give him Fawkes, do you?"

Hermione nodded excitedly. "He would love to live with Hagrid – no one was ever more loyal to Dumbledore. Let's see if we can fix it." The cold wind was forgotten as they talked excitedly back and forth all the way back to the castle.

* * *

Cold. Harry felt it more than thought it. Cold, but with a hot smell, and mama is so frightened… Where is mama? I need her to make my head better… The green flash had left the world in a pink haze, and through it, in the flickering light, he saw the two men again. The short man, grunting, lifted the taller one onto his back, and they vanished with a shout and a whoosh. Overhead, a motorcycle sounded faintly. Floo powder, thought Harry, his present consciousness winding around the dream, they left by floo powder, and next time perhaps I'll remember where they went… But now the motorcycle's drone was drowned out by an angry buzzing which jerked Harry awake. The Sneakoscope! He heard the lid of his trunk bang down, and the thud of heavy feet rushing out the door and down the stairs. "Lumos!" he cried, seizing his wand and pushing back the bed curtains. Abruptly the Sneakoscope cut off. Far below him, the rhythm of footsteps stuttered, and a yowl and a curse floated together up the stairwell.

By wand-light, Harry hurriedly inspected his trunk. Nothing seemed to be missing. He tilted it backward and slid his hand into the envelope he had taped to the bottom that morning, feeling the gossamer slipperiness of the invisibility cloak still there. If Filch should come back, though… He pulled out the cloak and crossed to the window, gazing out over the moonlit forest. Who would believe that hiding an invisibility cloak could be hard? As he yawned and stretched, the silky material slid from his arm onto the floor – and vanished. Fear seized him, but as he reached down he realized the cloak was still there against his toes. It reappeared as he picked it up, and disappeared again as he dropped it. This time, he inspected the floor carefully by wand-light, seeing nothing remarkable except a tiny spider scurrying along the baseboard. Was that it? He padded over to the terrarium in which Neville's toad Trevor was dozing, and dropped the cloak over it. It vanished, even the heavy brick on the lid. Something alive. He grabbed an apple from Seamus's dresser and thrust it into the folds of the cloak. Nothing. Neville's rack of plants did no better. It had to be animal. Harry returned to the window and searched for the spider again, finally spotting it on a shred of web next to its egg case. It scuttled away as he reached out for it, so he took the egg case instead, pleased to find that it stuck fast to the fabric of the cloak. He folded it over and grinned in satisfaction as it vanished in front of his eyes.

Now to hide it in plain view, he thought. Spellotape in hand, he clambered to the top of Ron's dresser and taped the cloak over the Chudley Cannons poster, grinning as the players signed thumbs-up and mum's-the-word. As an afterthought he taped the egg case securely to the cloak and fastened the fold closed. It'll hold until Spring, he thought, climbing back into bed, and by then I'll find something else.

* * *

The next day, climbing the stairs after lunch, they spotted Filch stolidly sweeping the corridor in front of the classroom. A long dusty thread trailed from the end of his wide broom, and Mrs. Norris, his skinny grey cat, pounced on it and batted it with her paw as the broom moved back and forth. "What's got into _her_?" muttered Ron. "She looks positively cheerful."

In contrast, Filch moved slowly and sadly, stopping now and then to lean on the broom. "What's got into _him_?" replied Harry. "He's not even grumbling."

As they entered the classroom a familiar figure caught their eyes. Snape was seated at the back, in haughty silence, a clipboard across his knees. Ron slid into his seat, shaking his head gloomily. "Uh-oh – Look at that. He's out to sack her for sure."

As Takushiki rearranged her notes, Hermione opened a notebook and copied from the board: _THE DARK SIDE – Is it a one way trip?_ She turned to Ron worriedly. "He can't sack her – she's too good a teacher. It wouldn't be logical."

"He has to," Harry murmured. "He's got to get her out of here before Dumbledore spills the beans. He's probably observing all her classes, trying to build a case against her."

"The Headmaster will be joining our class today," announced Takushiki. "He'll need an outline for each side of the debate you prepared. Millicent and, er, Seamus, would you share yours?" As the two papers made their way to the back of the classroom, she walked into the midst of the students. "Can a person return from the dark side? If so, how can you tell? Today's topic is now open – who'll start?"

Dean raised his hand, and she nodded at him. "Nobody enters the Dark by mistake, and nobody leaves. They go in for selfish purposes. Self-interest doesn't change, so Dark wizards don't, and they never come back.

Pansy broke in. "That's not exactly right. What about anger or fear? We already agreed that these cause people to do wrong things, but they're not permanent, are they?"

Harry raised his hand, thinking of Pettigrew. "If someone goes Dark out of fear, they don't come out. Grindy said the Dark erodes courage, so they couldn't change their minds."

Goyle nodded heavily. "They give up, and then they can't get back."

"What about revenge? Or misplaced loyalty? People can change their mind about that," put in Seamus.

"But once someone ah, gives in to the, ah, Dark, they turn over, ah, their free will," ventured Blaise. "No one ever returns - they are, ah, tainted forever."

"Right – trapped!" agreed Dean. "By their own weaknesses."

Hermione raised her hand. "It's not exactly a black and white issue, is it? Sometimes we're all stupid, or angry, or selfish. What if someone goes into the Dark just a little bit? It's like wading. Are you wet if you dip in a toe?"

Across the room, Millicent snickered. "I don't think so. Can you be just a little bit pregnant?"

Hermione blushed. "That's different! In that case you can't change your mind!"

"Right!" said Crabbe stoutly. "People can change if, if, if, they think about it."

"And are brave enough to try," added Neville, scribbling furiously.

"And if they admit their mistakes," added Pansy.

Ron waved, and Takushiki pointed at him. "Part of being on the Dark side is _not_ admitting mistakes. They always think they're right. You can tell Dienstmann knew he'd done awful things, but did he ever say he was sorry?" Harry saw that his friend was staring at Draco, who stared back balefully.

"Parvati's shaking her head," observed Takushiki. "What do you think, Miss P?"

A smile flickered across Parvati's face. "Professor Trelawney says people can't help thinking about the future. If someone looks into the future and sees what the Dark will do to her, she'll back out, won't she?"

"Divination," snickered Malfoy, "fat lot of good that'll do."

Harry grimaced, resenting Malfoy's tone of voice but agreeing with him just the same. Why did Parvati always have to drag Trelawney and divination into everything? Next to him, Hermione drew a deep breath. "You don't need divination to look into the future. Just concentration and common sense."

Lavender consulted her notes. "Actually, they're both right, but Abbott says here that it doesn't help. Dark wizards can't predict the future."

Ron kicked Harry under the table. "Hey – where does it say that?" he hissed. Harry rummaged in his bag, but before he could retrieve the little book, Hermione was pointing to an underlined passage in her own copy. _Darkness blinds a soul to the extended consequences of his actions. Only when the ends are pure and the means innocent can one foresee their outcome…_

Zabini had found the passage too, and finished it aloud: _"..and even then, it is usually not, ah, entirely clear_. Ahh, I think Abbott means, ah, someone who's, ah, gone over entirely though."

"And also, what if someone else did the predicting?" Crabbe put in uncertainly.

It was a good point, and Harry felt proud of Hermione. Crabbe had come a long way. He raised his hand anyway. "They wouldn't be believed," he said firmly. "The dark arts make a person arrogant. Grindelwald and Dienstmann thought they were invincible, and so does…" he caught himself, and substituted "…you know who." And Snape as well, he thought to himself, remembering the new Headmaster's smug expression when he returned from the inquest.

"Quite right," replied Takushiki. "If a person is to return from the Dark at all, he must turn back almost immediately – while he can still think clearly and feel remorse. That's why they call us into war zones," she explained, returning to the front of the class. "To fight the Dark before it roots itself in the community the way Grindelwald and his gang did seventy years ago." She checked the large hourglass on the windowsill. "Let me tell you a little story. When I first started working in defense, there was a chap on our team that people used to talk about behind his back. Some said he was on the dark side – others that he had been there and returned – and still others said he'd never strayed from our side and that the rumours themselves were Dark. If you were working with a fellow like that, how would you know which side he was on? What are some ways you might tell?"

Neville raised his hand. "Is the person mean and scary? Or friendly and helpful?"

"That doesn't tell you a thing," Ron pointed out. "Acting nice doesn't make you a good person. Remember the Chamber of Secrets? Riddle was nice to my sister - and all the time he was bewitching her to do terrible things."

"And Quirrell seemed nice enough," Millicent added wryly, "when he wasn't trembling."

Malfoy raised his hand. "Does the person seem spacey? Out of it? When You-know-who disappeared the first time, many people came out of trances. The Dark Side had bewitched them. It happened to... some people my family knows."

Takushiki nodded. "True, a bewitchment can have that effect. But long term bewitchments are rare, who can tell me why?"

Hermione's hand shot into the air. "It takes energy, miss - even Grindelwald only did it for short times and for specific purposes."

"Right again. Coercion has its limits, even for the Dark Side. They much prefer loyalty – it's stronger and surer over the long term. Let's hear some other ways to know a person's loyalties." Many people began talking at once.

"If they lie and deceive other people – like the sisters in Lear." Pansy offered.

"Or try to make other people do bad things – as Grindelwald did – and the terrorists back home," Seamus added.

"Threatening people …" growled Millicent Bulstrode.

"Right, and blackmail and other kinds of coercion…" added Lavender.

"How about arrogance?" asked Harry, restraining himself from glancing to the back of the classroom.

"Good point, Potter," Malfoy chimed in. "You'd know, wouldn't you?"

"Don't make it personal," warned Takushiki. "Harry's right, but we must always take care that what we're seeing is really arrogance, not a reflection of our own jealousy or dislike. Vince? Parvati?"

Crabbe checked his notes intently. "You can see how they react to the idea of doing, um, evil things."

Draco leaned across the aisle and stared at him. "Like what, old chum?" he asked, altogether too pleasantly.

Alarm spread across Crabbe's broad face. "Uh, murder. Theft…"

Seamus chimed in, grinning. "Tripping people from other houses in the corridor?"

Harry nudged Ron. "And keeping poisons and Dark Arts supplies in your basement?" he muttered.

"Or in your laboratory?" Ron whispered back.

"With whom does this person spend his spare time?" asked Neville. "Whom does he - or she - admire and seek out?"

"Who seeks him out?" Seamus added.

Takushiki broke in. "Are you sure, Seamus? After all, the dark side could seek anyone out." She consulted her notes.

Suddenly Snape's voice, dripping scorn, cut in from the back of the class. "Really, Miss Takushiki. All this blather about people returning from the Dark. Of all the Defense teachers we've had at Hogwarts, you seem to be the only one to believe it happens more than one time in a million."

Stunned silence fell over the class as Takushiki calmly folded her hands. "Perhaps I'm the only one of them to have worked in war mitigation, Headmaster. I believe it, sir, because in four years I've seen it happen a dozen times."

"Why would someone join the Dark Side just to back out again?" Snape pressed.

"For anger, revenge, misplaced loyalty – any passion that gets the better of them." Takushiki's voice became thoughtful. "Though I haven't heard of anyone returning who went over out of greed, or for power, have you, Headmaster?" Snape shook his head disdainfully.

Takushiki continued. "Passions aren't usually at the core of the personality. If the Dark doesn't cause them to take root, they weaken – and then there can still be time for a person to back out."

Snape rose to his feet. "What a lovely story," he sneered. "The lost soul, duped by the Dark through his passion, finds logic and is redeemed. A happy ending – how sweet. But how do you know if any of your dozen lost souls really returned?" His thin mouth twisted into a sardonic smile. "Isn't idealism a passion too, Miss Takushiki? Who's to say they didn't dupe _you_? They were Dark, weren't they? And if they did return, how do you know they're not falling back into darkness even now, one by one?"

Takushiki peered at him searchingly, then scanned the class. "The Headmaster has asked an excellent question. In my old line of work, it was something people always wanted to know. I don't suppose this will satisfy you, Professor, but after you've met a few returnees you can always tell."

"Pay close attention, fourth years," drawled Snape. "The unerring formula for identifying an ex-Dark wizard. I know one when I see one. Very helpful, Miss Takushiki." He sat down and began to write on his clipboard.

Harry and Ron looked at each other uneasily. To say the least, it wasn't going well. What could he say, or do, to turn the class around? As usual, though, Hermione spoke first. "What _are_ they like, Professor?" she asked.

"First, you must realize each one has been through a terrible ordeal, winning his soul back from the Dark side. Then for years afterward they must live with other people's continuing suspicion. They lose all sense of trust, so they're always on the defensive. The saddest part is that they fear even to trust themselves, though usually they cover it well. It may take them years to be sure that they won't backslide. And they find the least reminder of Darkness intolerable – so much that they can react physically to it."

Ron's hand shot into the air. "After You-know-who's fall, many well known people said they'd returned, but they're the same as they ever were – arrogant, self-satisfied and always trying to put other people down." His eyes gleamed triumphantly as he saw Malfoy's clenched teeth and the hatred in his gaze. "And there are people who officially have a clean record, but it doesn't mean they aren't friends of the Dark." He sat back, turning to Harry. "Especially when they go putting Voldemort's diary in little girls' bookbags," he added softly.

Takushiki stepped in. "There are always people suspected of being on the dark side, but it doesn't mean that they are."

Harry considered for a moment. "Professor, what if you put the sorting hat on them? It reads minds, and it talks - couldn't it tell where their loyalties pointed?"

A long moment passed, and all eyes turned to Takushiki for an answer. "It might well work," she conceded, nodding. "But even the sorting hat is no more than an imprint of some human mind, or minds, with human judgment. We have minds too – so we can learn to see a person's character, though perhaps not so quickly as the Hat."

Snape broke in again. "Not so quickly? Ha! It's usually plain from a person's past actions that he is in the Darkness. Why else would the Dark wizards have developed the Confundus Charm but to trick people into thinking they are innocent?" The bitterness in his voice made Harry shiver. He knew the Headmaster was referring to Sirius Black, and from the whispering around the class, so did others. Snape made a show of checking his notes. "The Confundus is part of the fourth year curriculum, Miss Takushiki. Can any of your students explain it?"

Immediately Hermione raised her arm. Takushiki ignored her. "We'll cover that in April, Headmaster. But for now the students should realize that reliable detection of the Confundus can be very difficult, especially if the observer's perception is clouded by strong emotions." She glanced again at the hourglass, which had run out. "I fear we're over time already. For your homework, please summarize and critique today's discussion in half a scroll. And let us thank the Headmaster for joining our class today." A spatter of applause rose and died away immediately.

As the students filed out, Snape picked his way toward Takushiki. Ron grabbed Harry's arm. "We'd better stay. What if he tries something?" They halted outside the door, astonished to see Filch still pushing around the same pile of dust.

"Well?" Takushiki asked evenly, as they peeked inside the classroom.

"You'll be observed again, and the House Heads and I will meet to finalize our recommendation," replied Snape grouchily, peering down his nose.

"If I may, Headmaster?" There was a silence. "Your comment surprised me. I would have thought… well… have you _never_ met anyone who returned from the Dark Side?"

"Is it any of your business if I have?" retorted Snape. After another silence he cleared his throat. "Well. Perhaps one. But no one can know it for certain until he's dead and gone," he said grimly. "One more thing, er, Professor. There will be a small staff meeting Sunday night in my office. You will attend. Good day." As he tucked the clipboard under his arm, Filch snatched his broom and ducked into the next classroom.

"He must know something!" hissed Harry, and the three students fled down the stairs. By the time Snape reached the door, the corridor was empty.


	19. Secrets, part 4

After dinner a few nights later, as soon as Hermione left to meet Crabbe at the library, Harry snapped his book shut and hurried over to Ron, who was propped up on his elbows on a couch by the fire, underlining a passage in Prefects who Kept Power. "Time to get going. Let's get the brooms," he whispered.

"Brooms? What for?" asked Ron in surprise. "Come on, Harry, it's freezing out there, and my bum is still sore from yesterday." Harry nodded knowingly. It had been the worst Quidditch weather anyone could remember – a pea-soup fog, through which the other players appeared and disappeared like ghosts, and the Snitch was utterly invisible. He had hoped Cho would use some of her fancy moves during the game – had indeed hoped to use a few himself – but it was out of the question when no one could see how near the ground was. They had played on and on to empty stands in the freezing damp, shouting to their invisible teammates and listening desperately for clues in Lee Jordan's scanty commentary, growing ever wetter and hoarser and more cramped until an early dusk fell. Hooch had just given them two more minutes of play before a postponement when Cho's voice sang out "I got it!" and they had all stumbled back to the castle aching and exhausted.

Mine's still sore, too, thought Harry. Aloud he said, "You saved the game, didn't you?" It was true; his friend's growing skill as Keeper, and the length of the game, had allowed Gryffindor a narrow win on points.

Ron rolled over. "I guess -– but why go flying now?"

"To spy on the staff meeting!" whispered Harry urgently. "Don't you remember?"

At once Ron was on his feet. They sprinted up the stairway to the top floor of Gryffindor Tower, stopping only to exchange their books for sweaters and the invisibility cloak and to unlock the dormitory window. Gently Harry touched his wand to the narrow door which led to the rooftop. " _Alohomora_ ," he breathed, and when the door clicked open, " _Immobilivens_ ". They slipped through the door and the pasty layer of thickened air around it, and shut it gently without letting in the slightest draft. Twenty ladder rungs later, Harry opened the roof scuttle and stepped out with Ron onto the roof of Gryffindor tower. Their brooms leaned against the parapet, chilly and slick with dew. Ron looked at Harry quizzically. "Cho brought them up for me after the game yesterday," he explained. They stacked the brooms, seated themselves a bit stiffly, and launched themselves into the darkness, the air falling away under the invisibility cloak as they took a long turn over the greenhouse and headed for the Headmaster's office window.

Far from the twinkling lights of the common rooms and dormitories, the window of the Headmaster's office shone like a beacon, casting a band of yellow light across the lawn to the frozen moat. Overhead, the dark tower loomed against moonlit clouds. Harry pulled up at the edge of the darkness and there they floated, blinking as their eyes adjusted. Snape had been redecorating, Harry thought, recognizing the skeleton of a bat in a dark wooden frame hanging in the alcove where Fawkes's perch had stood. Three specimen jars squatted on top of the tall oaken bookshelf, which still bore scorch marks. Portraits of former Headmasters still lined the walls, but now none were dozing. They watched the meeting below them vigilantly.

"Can we go any closer?" urged Ron in a whisper. "I can't hear a thing."

Suddenly a large flying object hurtled by their heads, nearly knocking Harry off the broom. _Voldemort!_ he thought, his heart pounding. Instinctively he dropped the broom into a steep dive, hearing Ron's choked gasp and feeling his fingernails digging into his shoulders. He wheeled around, reaching for his wand – and stopped dead in the air. Above them, a large eagle owl settled on the perch at the windowsill, and rapped politely on the window with one claw. The window opened, and as it hopped inside Sprout's voice called out with her customary energy. "Shall we leave it open, Headmaster, and let out some of those paint fumes?" Drifting closer, Harry and Ron caught a murmur of assent from around the table.

"As you wish," Snape said absently, unwinding the little scroll the owl had brought. "Ah. Another rumour," he continued, "a sighting of He-who-must-not-be-named in Transylvania, wearing a new body."

"If he was in a new body, how was he recognized?" asked McGonagall reasonably.

"Recruiting," said Snape succinctly, looking down his nose at her. "I shall advise Minister Fudge to send for the usual details on appearance, voice, wand. Anything else?"

"Fingerprints," Flitwick piped up. "If there are any. To find out who's missing." Snape nodded curtly and noted it down.

"What shall we do to protect our students?" asked Sinistra, concerned. "The Balkans, they are not so distant, only a few days' broom ride away. What if Il Oscuro should come after Potter again?"

"Not likely, unless Potter goes snooping where he has no business being," replied Snape drily. "His father's map was confiscated last year, and he has been instructed to turn in his invisibility cloak. That should put a lid on his little investigations. Next agenda item - the late Headmaster's papers."

Flitwick put a tiny hand in the air. "Excuse me, Headmaster, but wouldn't it be prudent to keep the students restricted to grounds? Especially Potter?"

"We have nearly three hundred students, Professor; I shall not strain myself to protect any one of them over the others," declared Snape.

McGonagall sat bolt upright, her eyes flashing. "If you're not up to protecting him, Headmaster, I certainly am!"

Snape turned slowly and stared at her. "As you wish, Professor; he is after all in your House, and your responsibility. And if you are quite finished, we await the reports I requested on Dumbledore's papers."

Sinistra glanced around the table, clearly discomfited. He took a deep breath. "Hypatia and I have analyzed the papers that Minerva and Papilio salvaged from Professor Dumbledore's effects. I congratulate you on your insight, Mr. Filch – there is indeed a highly disproportionate rate of disappearance and mortality among the Squibs. Yet the papers tell us only that they are gone – nothing of what happened to them." He shrugged expressively and settled back into his chair.

Somberly, Flitwick clambered to his feet. "As we agreed last time, young Mr. Weasley has been forwarding all the new death notices to me. The news is most terrible, my friends. In the last month there have been five suspicious deaths of young children and infants in our community."

A murmur of horror ran around the room. Sinistra leaped to his feet, his eyes flashing. "This is appalling! What is the Ministry doing? Headmaster, you must insist that they send their hit wizards. The Dark Lord must be stopped!"

McGonagall shot him a helpless look. "What good would it do, Hesperos? No one knows where he's hiding!"

"Lucius Malfoy knows!" thundered Sinistra. "That contemptible merchant of influence, sitting on his moneybags. He is the confidant of Il Oscuro. He does so many favours; who knows what favours he gets in return?"

"I shall probably be seeing him at the weekend," said Snape. "Would you like me to ask him?"

The meeting was silent. Snape went on. "I have not forgotten what Malfoy is, nor the folly of trusting him. But it seems that you have all forgotten that we desperately need what he has."

A chill ran through Harry. It was finally out in the open.

"His gold? I spit on it!" Sinistra burst out hotly.

"Idiot!" hissed Snape, "His information on You-know-who – which we will not get from him by spitting on his gold or anything else he offers us." As he spoke, the color drained from his face. "The only one of his _gifts_ that I am interested in is his knowledge. " Pressing his hands to his head, his voice gravelly, he concluded. "Is – that – perfectly – clear?"

Professor McGonagall leaned toward him as he slumped into his seat. "Are you quite well, Severus?"

"Well enough to do what has to be done," he snapped back. "Next item."

"There's nothing more on the agenda," piped Flitwick, fidgeting uneasily. "Shall we adjourn?"

"Adjourned," Snape said heavily. Hurriedly, the others gathered their scrolls and quills to leave. "Professor Takushiki, you will please remain."

Filch stopped in his tracks as he heard Snape's words. His mouth opened and shut again, fishlike. He sidled back to the Headmaster, who was rearranging some papers inside a battered leather folder, and bent to mutter something in his ear. Snape slammed the folder shut and wheeled in his seat. "No, Mr. Filch, I am not planning to sack anyone. Please leave us," he said coldly.

Ron and Harry both breathed a sigh of relief as Filch trotted cheerfully out the door. Across the table from the Headmaster, Takushiki waited, quiet and dignified, until he had finished organizing his notes. "How may I help you, Headmaster?"

Snape crossed to his desk and returned with a flat wooden box, which he laid on the table. Harry pulled the broom up near the top of the window so he and Ron could look down into it. Snape opened it carefully to reveal rows of small, felt-lined compartments, each containing a tiny paper-wrapped package. "Dumbledore requested this from the Ministry before his passing," he explained. "Each item belonged to one of the Squibs believed to be murdered by Voldemort. We need to interview their spirits. That is within your capabilities?" He began unwrapping the packages, placing each small object back into its compartment with the slip of paper bearing its owner's name.

"Yes, Headmaster, replied Hecate. "Provided the deceased is not too recently dead; they don't feel like talking. Or too long dead; they've wandered out of the living's view."

"So, for instance," said Snape, continuing to unwrap, "the late Headmaster?"

"I very much doubt that he would be ready to talk yet," answered Hecate. "But I expect I will be able to talk to him; provided I have some personal item of his to hold, of course."

"His possessions are mainly in this office under my control," said Snape, "should you need them. Now back to the matter in hand."

"I wish you had let me know earlier, Headmaster," said Hecate, gazing at the row of pathetic little bundles. "I could have brought my tape recorder." She checked the planets on her watch. "And the moon is setting; I won't have time for more than two or three. But I'll do my best – where do you want to start?"

Snape picked up a gold ring and held it out to her, startled to see her step back in alarm. "No!" She sat down hard. "Sorry, Headmaster, it's of metal. I can't work with it – I shouldn't even touch it. Another one, perhaps?"

He continued his unwrapping, and presently, without raising his gaze, handed over a grubby shoelace. As she took it, she gasped and let out a faint cry. Laying it gently on the table, she wiped her eyes with her sleeve. "If you don't mind, Headmaster," she said, swallowing hard, "we should probably begin with an adult. The little girl who left this was only eight years old."

Snape pressed his thin lips together. "Take a moment to collect yourself," he instructed. He dropped the last small object into its compartment and swept the pile of wrappings into a dustbin. His thin hand hovered over the box, then darted in to seize something. "If you are quite ready?"

She nodded, and he handed her what looked like a chip of wood, with a round paper label attached by a loop of string, "What do you suppose it is?" asked Ron in a whisper. Harry shook his head. Hecate turned the chip over, examining it, and then broke into a smile. "Ah – part of a reed. He played clarinet. Yes, this one will be fine, and he seems to want to talk, too." She pulled a sticking plaster from her pocket and used it to fasten the chip to her wrist. "I'll begin the interview in a moment, Headmaster," she explained in a quiet, businesslike voice. "I'll speak the words I send and those I see. You must pardon me if I don't face you; my concentration is better facing a blank wall."

"May I have a translator?" As Hecate opened her mouth to speak, her hands suddenly sprang into motion, dancing in complicated patterns around her face and between her shoulders and waist in front of her. "Melissa? Thanks for helping me. I need to speak with a jazz musician named Breck Bathurst..." and the fingers of her right hand flickered rapidly as she spoke the name.

Ron poked Harry in the shoulder. "What's she doing?" he demanded in an urgent whisper.

"It's sign language – that deaf people use," Harry whispered back. "Look, she must be talking to the guy now."

"Can you tell me exactly what happened on the night you passed over?" she asked, signing gracefully as she spoke.

"Is he speaking to you?" demanded Snape, seeing her drop her hands. She nodded and began to speak again, her voice falling in pitch and swinging into a new rhythm as she began his story. He had been walking home after a late night gig when he was stopped by two men – wizards, he realized, though he hadn't seen one for fifty years, since he had left home for the Muggle world. The smaller man had bound and gagged him with wand-rope and levitated them all to the top of a nearby building where the taller one began a long chant. "I soon fell asleep even though it was raining, and I woke up here," finished Hecate.

"Names – descriptions – details," urged Snape. Hecate signed again.

"The short one called the taller Lord Voldemort," she translated. "You could see he'd been a fat man once, but he hadn't had a good meal or a good sleep in a while. He looked like a starved rat, nervous and jumpy. The tall one, you could almost see through him, he was so pale. He never called his short friend by name."

"Did you see or hear anything else unusual?" Hecate asked, signing, then answered herself in the musician's tones, beginning with a chuckle.

"Funny the things you notice when you're dying," she relayed, genially. "When they started their chant, it started tamping down. Never seen a storm come up so fast on a clear night."

Hecate smiled. "I have to go now, but if there's anything else you want to tell us, or anyone you want to send a message to, Melissa will pass it along to me later. OK?" she told him. She waved, then paused to remove the chip of reed. "Melissa, stand by, please," she signed.

Snape, who had been sorting through the contents of the box, held up a length of black velvet ribbon between his thumb and forefinger. She took it, nodded, tied it around her wrist, and plunged in again, this time to interview a florist from Derry. Harry and Ron watched, fascinated, through the second interview, and a third, with the owner of a jade signet ring, before Hecate finally sank into a chair, trembling with cold and exhaustion.

"The moon's down, Headmaster, I can't see them any more."

"So it is." Snape checked the box. "Nine more to go. I shall expect you tomorrow night, after supper."

Hecate leaned her head on her hands. "It's not that simple. No one can do nine in a row. One has to rest after this kind of work – and I have lessons to prepare and papers to grade." She fished out her dark glasses and put them on, shakily.

Snape looked at her sternly for a long moment. "Very well," he said finally. "As many as you are able to in an evening. Now, tell me what you make of what they have told us so far."

Hecate considered. "Well, apart from the fact that they're all _dead_ , every one of them noticed some kind of natural disturbance; earth tremors, a storm. It must be connected with the attacks, or perhaps with the chant. I can research it if you like."

Snape nodded. "Do so. And - Professor - it might be as well in the present climate if you were not to mention these conversations. There are enough rumours flying around. It is important that this is kept confidential. Which reminds me; when you think that Dumbledore may be ready to talk to you, come here and speak to me."

"Very well, Headmaster" said Hecate seriously. "I want to help, you know."

Snape sniffed. "There is one more thing. Before you leave, fasten the window."

Behind the dark glasses, Harry could not read her expression. She picked up a book from the desk and used it to push the metal frame closed, then tapped the handle with it until it slid home.

Harry and Ron glided away from the window as Snape closed the door of his office behind Hecate and placed the box carefully in a drawer of his desk.

"So Filch was right; Voldemort is after Squibs," said Harry. "But what is he getting from them? Ron?"

His friend was lost deep in thought.

"Why do you think Snape told Hecate to come to him if it was time to speak to Dumbledore?" he asked Harry finally. "He wants to know what Dumbledore's going to say about his death, doesn't he?"

"So Dumbledore will tell, and that'll be evidence," replied Harry. "The sooner the better, if you ask me."

"No, that's not what I meant." Ron sounded frightened. "Snape wants to hear it _first_ – so that only he and Hecate'll know. Do you think he's going to let her tell anyone else if Dumbledore says what we think he's going to?"

They rode on in silence back to the dormitory as the first few snowflakes of winter began to fall.


	20. Secrets, part 5

The castle grounds were white and drifted, and snow was falling thickly as the friends arrived in the common room after classes. Hermione glared at the other two as they flopped down on the couches. "What is the matter with you guys? You were falling asleep in class all day long."

She's right, thought Harry. I feel half dead. Hermione's unsubtle kicks under the table had kept both him and Ron awake during Herbology and through a Defense class in which Takushiki had looked as tired as they felt. Lucky, he thought, they hadn't had Potions that day.

"We stayed up late last night to spy on Snape at the Heads' meeting. Afterwards he and Professor Takushiki started interviewing dead people – Filch's Squibs." He dropped an arm across his eyes. "Filch was right – Voldemort's murdering them one after another just the way he did with that poor girl, and Hecate is trying to get them to tell her why."

Ron swung his legs around and stood up, his concern mastering his weariness. "He kept her at it last night until she was done in, and now he wants her to go back every night and do more. It's so unfair. " He jammed his fists in his pockets and paced up and down. "I've heard stories about this sort of thing from my father. If she doesn't cooperate, he'll sack her for insubordination. If she does, she won't be able to get the rest of her job done and he'll sack her for that."

Hermione gave him a penetrating look. "Hagrid said Professor Takushiki could take care of herself, and I believe him. It's you two I'm worried about. Don't tell me you're going to go spying again tonight!"

"We're in the same boat as she is," Harry admitted. "Loads of homework, and not enough rest." He turned to Ron. "What happens if you fall asleep on a broomstick?"

Ron stopped in mid-pace. "You don't want to know."

"Maybe I should go, then," volunteered Hermione.

"But you can barely fly!" Harry protested.

Hermione sniffed. "Maybe - but I _do_ have all my homework done. And I don't have to be Cho Chang just to stay on the broom. All I have to do is hover there and snoop. Come on, give me the cloak."

"Better take my broom, then," said Ron, "it's steadier than Harry's".

"Take the map, too," advised Harry. "It'll tell you when they're about to start."

As they followed him up the stairs, Hermione broke in again. "By the way, I started work on the other potion recipe from Snape's office. It's not going to be easy. It's a mishmash of alphabets, some I don't even recognize. And some parts might be written backwards. Whoever wrote it down went to a lot of trouble to make it hard to read." She lowered her voice as they passed an open door. "I'm afraid it'll be something even darker than the one he gave Dumbledore."

Ron stopped to let her catch up. She went on. "He would have to be on the Dark side to know it, then. Or was once … Remember in class, he said he knew one person who returned from the dark side? He must have meant himself. That could account for a lot of his behavior."

"Maybe and maybe not," replied Ron sourly. "He said 'might know', didn't he? What if he never really returned?"

The arrived at the top landing, and after a quick peek into the boys' dorm, Harry waved Hermione in. Boosting himself to the top of Ron's dresser, he ran his hands along the left side of the Chudley Cannons poster to where the players pointed. There was a faint sound of Spellotape unfastening, and suddenly the cloak shimmered in his hands. He tossed it to Hermione, who stuffed it to the bottom of her bookbag. "Don't be late for dinner," she reminded them, tucking the map in as well. "There's to be a speech afterwards by the director of the Institute of Potions." She held up a copy of Magical Drafts and Potions. "Maybe he'll autograph this for me!" Shouldering the bag, she hurried down the stairs.

Harry sprinted after her. "Hermione? Could you, uh, check on us to make sure we wake up on time?

Hermione paused on the landing and laughed. "I was already planning to. See you in an hour."

When he turned back into the dormitory, he saw that Ron's eyes were already closed. He dropped the spider egg case into his trunk, flopped back on his bed and was quickly asleep.

It was late by the time the friends finally straggled back from dinner, led by a jubilant Hermione clutching her autographed textbook and a reprint of the speaker's latest article in Potions Reviews. He had also given her his business card, which Harry inspected, fascinated, as they walked back along the corridors. Ron was unimpressed. "Of course it keeps changing as you turn it – otherwise how could you fit everything on just two sides?"

As they approached the entrance to Gryffindor, the Fat Lady called out to them. "Best go upstairs right away, my dears," she warned. "Professor McGonagall's waiting for you in the dormitory. There's been a spot of trouble with Mr. Filch and Mr. Hagrid." She pursed her full red lips in a frown and heaved an ample sigh as the portrait hole swung open.

"The cloak!" gasped Harry, and hurled himself through the portrait hole. He took the stairs two at a time and was halfway into the second flight before he realized it was still safe. A moment later, an image of Hagrid being badgered by Filch flashed into his mind and he redoubled his efforts, pounding upwards as McGonagall's angry voice echoed in the stairwell over the Sneakoscope's furious buzzing.

"…inexcusable that you should participate…more appropriate to a police state than to a wizarding academy…complete lack of judgment… "

He arrived at the top, gasping for breath, and looked into a scene of chaos. The boys' dormitory had been utterly ransacked. Papers and books were scattered over the floor among blankets and bed hangings, and his clothes lay in heaps where his trunk and dresser drawers had been spilled out over his bare mattress. Filch stood open-mouthed in the middle of the confusion, helpless before McGonagall's fury, while Hagrid huddled by the window twisting the handle of his umbrella.

"…and the whole thing was set up deliberately behind my back." Glancing at Harry in the doorway, she paused to catch her breath. "What do you have to say for yourselves?"

Filch tossed the Quidditch robe he was holding onto the floor. "Headmaster's orders," he said spitefully. "Potter was supposed to turn in his invisibility cloak. He didn't."

"I don't have it!" Harry burst out hotly. "I didn't bring it to school this year!"

McGonagall gave him a long doubtful look, which he managed to return, as Ron and Hermione came up behind him.

"Oh, no! Your room too?" cried Hermione, indignant.

"You've been through her things as well?" demanded McGonagall, shocked. "You too, Hagrid?"

Hagrid spread his hands. He looked embarrassed and miserable. "I'm sorry ter yeh, Professor, but the Headmaster tol' me ter help Mr Filch an' ter clean up when he was done. There's spells fer that sort o' thing… Shall I get started now?" he asked, holding up his umbrella hopefully.

McGonagall shook her head with a snap. Her voice was cold and hard. "Mr Filch, you will inform the Headmaster that I wish to see him immediately. When you return, you will help Mr Hagrid clean up." With a look of terror, Filch fled past Hermione and down the stairs.

"All right, Potter, out with it," she commanded. "Did you lie to Professor Snape about the cloak?"

"It wasn't exactly a lie," Harry explained, shifting his weight uneasily. "I left it with Hagrid over the summer, to keep him safer in the Forbidden Forest." Across the room, Hagrid nodded dumbly.

McGonagall pressed her lips together. "It was still a deception. And just now you said you don't have the cloak. Where is it?"

Before Harry could answer, Hermione broke in. "Professor, if You-know-who attacks again, Harry'll need the cloak for protection. You've heard the rumours. Please, you can't take it away from him now." McGonagall peered at her thoughtfully as she continued. "We'd tell you where it is, but if you know, you'll have to tell the Headmaster, won't you?"

Harry watched, perplexed, as a strange expression played over McGonagall's face. Could she be trying not to smile? At last she spoke in her usual sharp tones. "Well, don't leave it with Hagrid. There's no use getting him in trouble with the Headmaster. And I want your word of honor that it won't be used for anything except protection from the Dark Side." As the three students nodded, she poked her chin toward the door. "Go on downstairs. The rest of this is a staff matter."

As they turned to leave, George and Fred reached the top of the steps and took in the scene. "No one treats Gryffindor like that!" exclaimed George, horrified. "This is war!"

McGonagall looked at them coldly. "It is _not_ war; it is an administrative misunderstanding. And I'm putting the two of you jokesters on notice: if I so much as hear of any more practical jokes against Mr. Filch or the Headmaster, you'll serve a detention you'll never forget. Now go!" As a whooshing noise began in the fireplace, she shut the door firmly in their faces.

"Lumos," said Ron, and as Hermione disappeared into the girls' dormitory, the rest of the group began to pick their way down the stairs by wand light. Hearing a muffled snort behind him, Harry turned to see Fred and George lean against the wall, weak-kneed with laughter.

"Cut it out!" hissed Ron. "What's the matter with you guys? This is no time for jokes. And McGonagall just told you not to do anything."

Helplessly, the twins shook their heads and burst into another fit of laughter. "What can we say?" George choked. "It's too late - we already did!"

"Oh, no!" groaned Harry. "Did what?"

Fred sank down on a stone step. "Ohhh, our best yet! Filch just got a love letter on pink flowered note paper. And Snape has a little surprise waiting in his office!"

"Six little surprises," wheezed George, bent almost double, "one in each of Zonko's finest fragrances. And stay away from the Quidditch pitch when Slytherin is practicing…"

"…or you'll be green, and I don't mean with envy!" finished Fred with a chuckle.

The next morning at breakfast, the dining hall was an uproar of rumors and stifled laughter. Had Filch really gone through one of the girls' possessions on the Headmaster's orders? Was it really true that someone had dungbombed Snape's office the night before? The Slytherins seemed only slightly less jovial than the other tables: a good sign, thought Harry, they need to lighten up. Then he caught himself. Really, there had been nothing funny about either incident for the people it had happened to. The staff table seemed as divided as his thoughts; McGonagall looked grim, Takushiki subdued, and Sinistra seemed to be lecturing Vector about something. Nearby Sprout and Pomfrey had their heads together, as did Flitwick and the Runes instructor, all chuckling quietly. At the far end of the table Kettleburn was punching an embarrassed Hagrid playfully in the shoulder with his left fist. He whispered something in Hagrid's ear which made him startle, then guffaw.

Down the table, with enormous relish, Lee Jordan was sharing the details of the attack on the Headmaster's office. "Dog, cat, swine, goose, horse…and elephant! Filch'll have it in for the twins for sure!"

Lavender, indignant, called out to him. "It wasn't funny for Hermione! How would you like Filch going through your underwear? She spent half the night cleaning up, after the library closed, and now she's too embarrassed to come down to breakfast."

"Where _is_ Filch, anyway?" asked Ron quietly. A thunder of applause and catcalls answered his question as the far door opened and Filch appeared. Strangely, he didn't seem to notice the uproar, but sat down heavily at the end of the table and filled his teacup, his eyes fixed partway down the table. Ron watched him, gritting his teeth, while Filch cheerfully tucked away a plate of sausages and eggs, his gaze never leaving Takushiki. Finally he caught her eye, and with a grin and a broad wink, patted his breast pocket. Frowning, she pantomimed puzzlement, and after another wink he went back to eating.

Ron slammed down his fork, red-faced. "I've had it with those two and their jokes! I swear…"

"Tell her, then," urged Harry. "If you don't, it'll only get worse. Maybe she could have a word with them. They like her, you know – they might even listen to her."

"I suppose." Ron nodded glumly. "But if she lets on who told them, they might tell her…" he trailed off, abashed.

Harry fought back a chuckle. "Don't you think she knows already?"

Hermione surfaced again in Potions, but the day's work – a complicated fractionation of gingko leaf extracts – was so demanding that they couldn't talk with her about the night before. Snape's mood was as foul as Harry had ever seen, especially after Millicent Bulstrode, egged on by Pansy Parkinson, remarked to him how nice his hair looked. It did look pretty good, admitted Harry to himself, and from the faint odor of soap that followed him among the tables, the Potions Master had spent a lot of time cleaning up the night before. When he stopped at Harry and Ron's bench to criticize the way they had folded their filter papers, it was clear that he'd even used a toothbrush. "Must have been some bomb," muttered Ron under his breath. "Maybe Fred and George weren't so far wrong after all."

Dusk was beginning to fall as Harry and Ron finally left the dungeon laboratory. "I'll catch up with you later," Hermione had called to them across a bench crowded with glassware. They picked up their brooms and took off across the snow-covered grounds to the Quidditch pitch where a disgruntled Alicia Spinnet chewed them out for being late, then made room for them in a passing drill at one end of the field. They had only been working for half an hour when they spotted Montague, Zabini, and the rest of the Slytherin team trudging across the field toward them.

"Hallo!" cried Montague, accelerating up to meet the Gryffindor captain. "Can we share the field for a while? Go halves?" She regarded him suspiciously. "Come on, Alicia, we've already had our game, and there aren't many clear days in wintertime."

Draco's not here, so why not? Harry thought – then felt a sudden knot in his stomach as he remembered the twins' warning. Spinnet must have remembered too, for she waved the team over and dismissed them. "We've had enough of the cold, Havelock; you go ahead." They started back to the castle as the Slytherins brushed snow off the bleachers and seated themselves for a pep talk.

Apple pie and ice cream had just arrived at the student tables when the dining hall door was flung open and an angry Montague burst in, followed by the entire Slytherin Quidditch team. Each player's face and arms were covered in brilliant green blotches. Madam Hooch, tight-lipped, bustled in after them. A lumpy bag leaped and struggled in her hands. The entire hall exploded in wild laughter as the shamefaced Slytherins tried vainly to hide behind one another. Snape stood and raised his hand, obviously calling for silence, but the uproar drowned him out. Hardly anyone saw McGonagall draw out her wand and point it at the ceiling.

CRA-ACK! A bolt of lightning seared across the indoor sky. A moment later, a booming clap of thunder rattled the dishes. Around the hall the laughter died away under Snape's baleful gaze.

"Who – did – this?" demanded Snape, and this time the entire hall could hear him. Fred and George looked at each other uneasily. No one moved.

Suddenly Harry caught sight of Professor Takushiki waving her wand in a tight pattern above Hooch's lumpy bag. She stepped back to wait as Hooch brought the bag to Snape and rose on tiptoe to say something in his ear.

"The contents of this bag," Snape announced, "have been charmed to reveal the last person who placed a spell on them. _Reflecte incantatem_ ," he pronounced, and opened the bag wide.

Four Quidditch balls shot up toward the ceiling, hovered there for a second, then made a beeline for the Weasley twins. A the first ball zoomed in toward Fred, he gave a strangled shout: "Nooo…it's waterproof!" and the dining hall erupted in laughter again.

It was late that night when a green-spotted George and Fred finally returned to the Gryffindor common room. "We're getting a fifty-point penalty and detention," announced Fred bitterly, "and Snape's writing to our parents. One Howler coming up!" He slumped into an armchair by the fire and hugged his knees to his chest, staring into the flames. "All for a trick that shouldn't have been worth more than ten points max."

"He knows perfectly well we did the dungbombs too," George reminded him from the other side of the fireplace.

"OK, so that was a twenty-pointer," his brother retorted in disgust. "It's still unfair. And I still can't believe Takushiki turned us in."

George grinned. "Where's your chivalry, Fred? Whatever happened to 'the luscious Miss Hecate'?"

Fred scowled. "You don't think she's on to us?" He looked speculatively at Ron.

"What's the detention – Muggle cleaning?" asked Harry innocently.

"Moving the rock in the rose garden," replied George. He sat up straight and broke into a grin. "You know, we could have a little fun with that, Fred my boy."


	21. Frost, part 1

Chapter 7: Winter Frost

Day by day, the term ground downhill toward the holidays. A surge of homework – Potions homework to be exact, and a term project in Transfiguration – combined with a nagging feeling of guilt about the trouble the cloak had caused for McGonagall, had kept Harry from any more spying on Snape. Even Quidditch practice had become tedious. With no game to look forward to until Springtime, the team spent their time in drills and in training the reserves, all of whom were coming along steadily. For himself, Harry felt stuck in a rut, knowing that he ought to be improving but somehow not knowing how; on the other hand Ron was rapidly growing more skillful and confident.

As the days passed, each one grayer and chillier than the next, Harry began to understand something of what Hagrid had gone through in those terrible weeks after Dumbledore's death. Every time he went in to the dining hall and saw Snape at the Headmaster's place, it reopened the wound. If only he had kept his promise to Hagrid and told Dumbledore his suspicions earlier, perhaps the tragedy could have been averted. Again and again he went over the events of that day in his head, thinking what he could have done differently, trying out different possibilities until he could no longer keep track of them. He blamed himself for not bringing help in time and was nagged by the feeling that because of the fight, Dumbledore had died disappointed with him. He thought of all the questions he had never had a chance to ask Dumbledore, and of all the things Dumbledore knew about his parents that he would never find out.

Of course Hagrid was feeling better now, thought Harry enviously. Ever since the note about Fawkes had come from Filch, telling the groundskeeper to get the ruddy bird out of the owlery before it burnt the place down, the spring had come back into his step and the twinkle into his eye. The last time they had seen Hagrid he had been knitting a cap and muffler for Rodney. Compared to the usual scale of his knitting, the fine yarn and narrow needles looked impossibly small in his hands.

It had taken several days for the dye to wear off the Weasley twins and the Slytherin team – long enough, in fact, that the next Monday Harry was startled to see Bulstrode and Zabini in class without their familiar green markings. Still, he couldn't spend much time thinking about that; midterm examinations were coming up, and then the winter break. He had been pleased to find that Cho was planning to stay over for the holidays at Hogwarts. Her mother was preparing a big show on Savile Row, and her father was going to test for rokudan, whatever that was, with someone named Aikikai Hombu from the Kobayashi Sensei, or perhaps it was the other way round. Takushiki had been impressed, so he supposed it was something important.

Fred and George, still in disgrace with their parents, had signed up to stay too, and Ron had promised to keep an eye on them, or try to. Harry, of course, was staying; nothing could have induced him to go back to the Dursleys for a moment longer than necessary. Hermione was still deciding whether to keep them company or to join her parents on a family vacation in Trinidad. "It's probably the last time my grandmother can make the trip," she explained. "And I have masses of cousins there that I've never met."

"Well, have fun," said Harry, wishing that he could go. He had a brief vision of himself on a sparkling beach, tossing fish in the air for Buckbeak to catch, while Sirius Black sat under a palm tree strumming a guitar. All at once he missed Sirius, and missing him, thought again of Dumbledore. He pushed the thought away.

"And send us an albatross," Ron was saying, "or an eel-mail to my father at the Ministry."

"I haven't quite decided yet," said Hermione. "It depends on midterms."

By which she meant, Harry realized, not her own midterms but Crabbe's. "Is Vince staying over too?" he asked.

Hermione made a face. "Unless he passes everything, his parents won't let him come home for holidays. Can you believe how unfair that is? Knowing how hard he tries, to put him under that kind of pressure?" She broke off suddenly, with a faraway look in her eyes. "Oh well… I'd better get to studying myself."

"Studying yourself, or tutoring Crabbe again?" asked Ron teasingly.

"Myself." Hermione giggled. "I have to finish it all early because he's taking me dancing Saturday night, and I have to go get my hair done, and…" Blushing, she seized her books and darted for the portrait hole.

"Wait! wait!" cried Harry. All of Crabbe's earlier cruelties surged into his mind. He had seemed nice enough recently, but if the potion wore off… "Are you sure you're going to be all right?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Really, Harry! We're going with Millicent and Pansy and their boyfriends." She held up a hand. "And before you start, Pansy's fixed it with Draco so he'll be civil for once."

I don't understand her at all, thought Harry. It had been a lot simpler last year before everyone started falling in love. He thought briefly of Cho and wondered if he should ask her to go dancing too... "Well, have fun," he said again, lamely.

Harry awoke Saturday morning to brilliant sunlight streaming through the window. The snow had melted and it promised to be a beautiful day – perhaps the last really good one of the year. He hopped out of bed, dressed as fast as he could, and sent Hedwig up to the top of Ravenclaw Tower with a message for Cho. Dancing was all right, but it couldn't compare to flying. An inspiration hit him, and he hurried to the dining hall, hoping McGonagall would be there. He found her – always the early riser - halfway through her second cup of tea, and deep in a debate with Takushiki over an editorial in _Transfiguration Today_. "Professor," he began, "is it all right to fly to Hogsmeade?"

McGonagall put down her teacup and thought for a moment. "We don't encourage it, Potter. Too many students have lost their brooms, or had them stolen. I'm sorry."

"Just a moment, Minerva," said Takushiki. "Would anyone bother stealing a Silver Arrow?"

"Not likely," replied McGonagall. "When we ordered new broomsticks for the flying classes this fall, we couldn't give them away. Why?"

"I have one," she said a bit sheepishly, "and if Harry's willing to trade for a day…"

"Oh, would you?" he exclaimed eagerly.

Takushiki laughed, and McGonagall joined in. It was the first time he had seen her happy since... He pushed the thought away. "Go ahead, then, Potter - though Professor Takushiki is clearly getting the better end of your deal. As I remember, the best place to leave a broomstick in Hogsmeade is behind the Hog's Head."

"The Hog's Head?" Harry couldn't remember a store by that name.

"Showing my age I suppose. It's the Three Broomsticks now. And if Hagrid's playing cards there as usual, he could keep an eye on it for you."

Returning to his dorm for the Firebolt, Harry found Hedwig carrying Cho's reply, and a scrawled note from Ron.

 _They're putting the parapet up today. Come and watch - Ron_

He strolled outside to find Ron gone already and the masons cleaning up. The foreman appeared to be arguing with Madam Pomfrey. "Of course we did, ma'am. It's our trademark, and we never finish a piece of work without one." He pointed to his caravan, large and pink, which bore the inscription _Swineburn Stonemasons – Passionate about Pigs._ Pomfrey sniffed and stomped back inside. "Are they all done at the north tower?" he called to one of the workmen.

"Excuse me," Harry interrupted, "what are you doing at the north tower?"

"Replacing a windowsill, lad, that was damaged in a fire. Better get over there if you want a souvenir." He burst into hearty laughter as Harry took off like a shot.

A moment later Harry stood below the Headmaster's office window. Two masons hovered in mid-air, one tapping in wedges with a hammer and a long stick, the other measuring and checking a level on top of the new block. "All set! Send up the caulk," called the one on the left. With a quick glance at Harry, the mason on the ground pointed a wand, and two caulking guns rose from a wheelbarrow into the waiting hands aloft.

"If you're going to stand so close, lad, you'd best wear this." Harry was surprised to hear a woman's voice. Without moving her wand hand, she pulled off her hard hat and tossed it to him. "What can we do for you?"

Harry swallowed. "I was hoping to get a piece of the old windowsill," he explained. The mason nodded and brushed a strand of gray hair away from her face. When the caulking was finished she carefully lowered the other two to the ground.

"Now then, lad, which bit do you fancy?" They bent over the old sill, which lay upside down on the muddy grass, cracked in several places. This is where Dumbledore used to look out over the grounds, thought Harry. This is where he was leaning when he died. A lump rose in his throat, and a tight feeling began behind his eyes.

"Something from the top, please." He grasped the two central sections and pushed them over. The mason sucked in her breath and crossed herself. Harry looked down, but all he could see was mud. The mason began turning over the other sections, shaking her head wonderingly. "I'll get some snow," said Harry, spotting a pile in a sheltered corner. He scrubbed it by handfuls over the stone as she followed with a rag. Underneath the mud, the surface was smooth and glossy, with bumpy rivulets as if it had melted and frozen again. The tight feeling grew stronger.

"How could this be?" the mason murmured.

"They were fighting with lightning bolts," he explained. "Wouldn't that be hot enough?"

She shook her head again. "We use wand-bolts for welding in a pinch. They only heat a small spot at a time – and here, the whole stone's affected. End to end. " She hefted a piece onto her knees, turning the cracked side upward. The top was cloudy and white; below it the broken surface sparkled with thousands of tiny crystals. "Look at that. The damage goes all the way through in places."

"The explosion, then?" Worry was rising in Harry's throat.

"Not a chance. Explosions shatter things. Here, get back. And have a care, the edges'll be sharp." With a few strokes of mallet and chisel, she split off a section the size of a dictionary and handed it to him. Wrapping the rest of the chunk in her rag, she dropped it softly into her wheelbarrow and picked up the handles. "I'd better take this bit over to the boss. I've never seen anything like it. Dark Arts to be sure."

Harry wondered if she was right. True, his head felt a bit odd, but what could be Dark about a windowsill? He ran to catch up with her. "So what's so unusual about this stone?"

"It's limestone."

"So?"

The mason stopped and put down the wheelbarrow. Her eyes bored into Harry's. "You still don't understand, do you?" she said kindly. "Limestone doesn't melt."

The matter of the stone nagged at him all the way back to the dormitory, where he picked up the Firebolt and cloak and headed over to Takushiki's office. As an afterthought he took the section of windowsill too. "Come in!" she called cheerily as he approached her office, so he turned the crystal doorknob and entered.

"Here you go, Petcock," she was saying, sliding several straw-colored envelopes into a silken bag. Slipping on a glove, she added two golden galleons and a couple of pound notes. "When you return from the Muggle post and the stationer's, take the rest of the day off."

"I should think so," squawked the bird, taking the bag in one claw. He hopped to the windowsill and was gone.

Takushiki turned to Harry eagerly. "Got the Firebolt?" He leaned it against the desk as she reached into a curtained cupboard for her battered Silver Arrow. When she returned, he was unwrapping the stone on her desk. "What's that, Harry?"

As he explained, she nodded her head knowingly. "May I keep it for a while?" she asked. "I'd like to have a closer look."

"So long as I can have it back. I don't have any other memento of Dumbledore."

Takushiki took off the glove and placed her hand on the stone. She stared off into the distance. "Yes, I can see him now."

Harry considered; he would have to choose his words carefully. "You can communicate with him too, can't you?"

Takushiki frowned. "How did you know that?"

"I overheard him saying something about it, back before he died."

"Well, don't broadcast it, but it's true. As soon as he's settled in, I'll probably have a talk with him. The Headmaster seems very keen to hear his version of the attack." She gathered up the remaining envelopes and bamboo-printed notepaper and put them in a desk drawer.

On impulse, Harry unfolded the invisibility cloak. "This was my father's. I don't mean to impose but – could you tell me - can you see my parents?"

"Any metal on it?" she asked. He shook his head, and she took it from him and turned it over in her hands, then pressed it to her face. "Oh, Harry. Their world is always falling away from ours, slowly but surely, and you lost them when you were only a baby. They're too far away to see." She looked at him sympathetically. "I'm so sorry."

"It's all right," said Harry, bitterly disappointed. "Look – if you happen to talk with Dumbledore – tell him hello from me." He grabbed the cloak and the old broom and dashed out of the office. Lame, lame, lame, he thought furiously, scowling as he ran along the corridor. I miss him so much I can hardly breathe, and I tell her to say hello for me. What an idiot! But another part of his mind responded, consoling: she understands, she'll know exactly what to say, your message is in good hands.

He was out of breath by the time he reached the bottom of Ravenclaw tower, where Cho's bay owl was waiting for him. It flew up the stairs, hooting, and presently Cho rushed down, rosy-cheeked and bouncing with excitement. She led him down the back stairs past the kitchen, where she picked up two bag lunches, and out the rear door where the garbage tarbosaur was searching in its trough for the last scraps of breakfast leftovers. It belched and turned over to have its belly scratched, rolling its eyes hopefully as they passed by. "Oh, all right," said Cho. She rifled through her paper bag and threw it a biscuit, which it caught in its great toothy mouth. Its buzz of pleasure followed them until their brooms had risen far above the castle.

Cruising over the countryside, high in the warm, clear air, they had to shield their eyes from the brightness. Below them shimmered the slate roofs of Hogsmeade. Just past the town they found a picnic table in a park next to a little rushing waterfall and laid out their lunches. The foaming pool beside them was fringed with bracken fern, each frond dewy with spray. Harry watched two drops detach from a leaf and fall into the torrent. Is that what happened to my parents? Swept away and lost forever? Another drop fell: Dumbledore. Harry looked downstream, where the brook surged among rocks and tree roots, finally vanishing between two hills. There was no use kidding himself. Dumbledore was gone and beyond his help, as surely as those drops of water. I'll be like one of those drops myself one day, he realized, fallen and gone. The thought brought back images of the only river he had ever seen - the Thames, gray and sluggish under bridge traffic; of the sea, its salt breeze still blowing over the rocky island where Hagrid had found him, and of Sirius under a palm tree, amid a crowd of brown children, Hermione's cousins.

A noise intruded into his thoughts and he looked up.

"I said, I'm going up again; the air is perfect for practicing flips." Cho frowned at him. "Are you OK? You didn't hear a word I said."

"Sorry – You go ahead, this old streetsweeper wouldn't turn a flip if you begged it."

"All right, suit yourself." Cho set a little pouch on the table. "If you feel like working on it, here's a maintenance kit." She shot into the sky.

Harry opened the kit absently, feeling that he might as well do something useful while he waited. After all, the broom was badly in need of a tune-up. He reached for the twig clippers and immersed himself in the work. An hour later he rubbed the last of the tube of broom wax into the handle. Satisfied, he looked again into the waterfall, where the brackens sprung up green and vibrant against the dark rocks and melting snow. Strange how the work had made him feel better – and he was even hungry again. He mounted the Silver Arrow and kicked off, testing its new speed and agility, and soon pulled up alongside Cho.

"Ready for a snack? Shopping?" Cho nodded and pointed her broom toward the town below. The Shrieking Shack loomed on their right, its boarded-up windows staring at them like sightless eyes.

"Creepy old place," said Cho with a shudder. She pointed to an upstairs window where a board had come loose. "Look, it's falling apart. I wonder what it was like for whoever lived in there."

"Lonely," said Harry shortly, to which Cho had no reply. They left the broomsticks at the pub with Hagrid and Rodney, who seemed to be having a reading lesson, and walked over to the sporting goods shop where, after a short consultation with the shopkeeper, Harry bought two small jars of broom wax, a pumice stone and a tiny ceramic knife blade in a plastic handle. "And that blue and white skateboard," he murmured, "but may I pick it up later? It's a gift." The shopkeeper's gaze flickered to Cho, and he pointed to a sign under the counter glass: _We gift wrap and deliver_. Harry nodded. He filled out the forms and found Cho a few racks over looking at the weighted gloves Ron had coveted earlier that fall. "Are they any good?" he asked, and discussing them, they started back toward the Three Broomsticks.

Suddenly Harry heard someone call his name – Hermione, a shopping bag in each hand, looking both exhilarated and worried. "I can't believe it took so long!" she said, holding up her booty.

Cho peered inside. "Ooh, nice! And shoes too?"

Why all the excitement? thought Harry. It's just a dance, after all. He had heard all the usual jokes about girls and shopping but never dreamed that sensible Hermione would ever act that way. Behind them, a loud voice boomed out over the sidewalk. "They're ready for you now, Hermione!"

Hermione's eyes grew round. "Millicent? Oh, you look just like Princess Di!"

Harry turned around to look and just managed not to burst out laughing. Millicent Bulstrode was just coming out of the hairdresser's. Her short, lank hair, once the color of wet cardboard, had been lightened and waved and fluffed, and her broad, ruddy face was done up in pale peach makeup with pink lipstick. Bulstrode saw him staring, and her face lit up. "Do you like it?" she asked hopefully.

"Stunning," Harry replied, realizing a moment later that he hadn't lied after all. And he had managed not to hurt her feelings. She wasn't such a bad person, actually, since she had started playing Quidditch. As the two girls marched off happily in opposite directions, Harry turned to Cho, trying to read her face. "Cho – did you want to go to that dance?"

She started off purposefully toward the Three Broomsticks. "Too late now, all the tickets are gone. But there's usually another in April."

"How about then?" Cho nodded. Then it hit him. He had just asked a girl for a date and she had accepted. It was a wonderful feeling.


	22. Frost, part 2

Harry didn't see Hermione again until late that night. Between yawns, he was trying to explain to Ron what had been so funny about Bulstrode, when the portrait hole opened and Hermione climbed through. For a moment he was unsure who she was, this vivid stranger in the yellow satin minidress, with hundreds of narrow braids swinging gently across her shoulders. "Hermione – you're back!"

Ron sat up and threw an arm over the back of the couch. "Finally! It's half an hour after curfew! You're just lucky the prefect's gone to bed…What did you _do_ with your _hair_?"

Hermione scowled. "Really, Ron – are you my mother? They're called braids. And the prefect _can't_ turn me in. She was still dancing when we left…and you wouldn't believe who her date was!" She pulled off her platform shoes and sprinted toward the staircase.

"Wait, Hermione, I found out something today," called Harry.

"So did I – I'll be right down."

As soon as she was gone Ron started in. "What's gotten into her? She's acting so strange, it's like someone gave her a potion…"

Fred and Angelina appeared at the portrait hole, followed by Katie Bell and Lee Jordan. The four of them disappeared up the stairs, laughing. It opened again and another group entered.

Soon Hermione returned, in jeans, sweatshirt and slippers, and listened to Harry's account of the morning's events.

"I have some news of my own – something Draco said after the dance."

Ron snorted. "I still can't believe you went dancing just a week before midterms. And with that bunch of nasty gits from Slytherin!"

"Come on, Ron, do you want to hear the story or not?" Harry asked impatiently. "Go on, Hermione."

Hermione continue. "You needn't have worried; they were all perfectly civil, even Draco. I didn't hear the M word all evening. We danced, we had fun, and when the party was about to end Draco called a coach for us. The other girls fell asleep and I was so tired I closed my eyes too, and that's when he started talking to the other boys."

"What did he say?" asked Harry, on the edge of his seat.

"He was telling them that he drank some of Dumbledore's potion," said Hermione. "A big gulp, he said. It must have been when Dumbledore was closing the window blind."

"But why?" asked Ron, taken aback. "He should know better – especially after what Snape said about the age of the user."

"Dumbledore told him it would boost his powers – his own powers, I mean," Harry pointed out. "And Malfoy is always looking to get an advantage."

"That's not all," Hermione continued. "He said his father has been acting funny lately; that he didn't even seem to be that happy about his own son surviving the attack. You remember that he didn't even come to visit him in the infirmary? Lucius just brushed the whole thing off until he heard about the potion. Ever since then he's been quizzing Draco about it. And about Snape. How he looked on the day of the murder, what he argued with Dumbledore about, what he does now in his spare time, who he sees. And Draco's really fed up with it."

"Malfoy fed up? With ratting on people to his father? That should be right up his alley." Ron shook his head. "I don't get it."

"That's the strangest thing of all," said Hermione. "His father doesn't seem to like anything he's told him so far. He keeps sending him back for more spying. Goyle told him to relax, that his father wouldn't have given him the Firebolt if he didn't care about him. And that the spying means he trusts him. But Draco's not so sure."

"Wasn't Lucius upset that he drank the potion?" asked Harry.

Hermione shook her head. "I'm pretty sure Draco didn't tell him. After all, would you? He must still believe it's a strengthening potion."

Across the room the portrait hole flew open with a bang. George scrambled through at top speed, brushing off his clothes. Behind him they heard McGonagall's angry voice. "Fifteen points from Gryffindor – for each of you. Giving us all a fright like that! No one knew where you'd got to. Filch is still out there in the dark, looking for you." George reached through the hole and hauled in the shamefaced prefect, who turned back to the hole still trying to explain.

"There were no more coaches - we had to walk back – and then my shoe broke and…" Wobbling on one high heel, she backed away toward the stairs.

McGonagall's face appeared at the opening. "Well, bring your wand next time. Really, you should know better." She glared at the three friends by the fireplace. "And you three ought to be in bed. Go on, then!"

The portrait hole swung closed and George and the prefect disappeared to their dormitories. Harry listened until their footsteps died away and turned back to his friends.

"We need to know more," he said.

"Dumbledore hasn't told Professor Takushiki anything yet, then, has he?" asked Ron.

"No, she could only just see him when I gave her that bit of limestone. Snape won't do anything to her yet. All those Squibs we heard her talk to have been dead since the start of term, remember? But we could try and get some evidence somewhere else. Maybe enough to tip someone off before Dumbledore does try to talk to her."

"There's the Institute of Potions," piped up Hermione from the corner where she was rubbing her feet.

"You've got a thing about that Institute," said Ron.

"If you'd been listening in lecture," Hermione told him, "then you'd know that they keep records on all the potion makers in Great Britain and beyond: what kind of potions they make, where they studied and so on. And they keep track of rare potion ingredients like Upas sap. If Professor Snape did get mixed up with something Dark when he was younger there could be a clue in his record. He might have traveled in Eastern Europe like Quirrell. Or he could have tried to make potions he shouldn't."

"Fine, but how do we get to see them?" Harry asked, relieved that Hermione seemed more her usual self. "We're three school kids. What do we do, stick on false moustaches and say 'Hello, we're from the ministry, can we look at your records?' Then they say, 'No you're not, you're Harry Potter and I'm sending an owl to your Headmaster!'"

Hermione sniffed. "You might do that; I've got a plan. We'll go to the Institute but we'll be under a glamour when we get there. Of course, you know what that is because Professor Flitwick told us about it just last week."

"Remind us," drawled Ron. "I can see you're dying to."

"You recite the glamour and the fixing charm and whatever you use it on seems to be different in the way you tell it to be. We're going to use a maturing one. So, if you charmed a bud, it would look as if it had turned into its flower. There was a big fuss a couple of years ago when someone used one to cheat at the Hogsmeade Harvest Fair giant marrow competition. If I used it on you, you'd look a few years older; only a few years because it's a lot more difficult to use it on people than on plants. But it would last for a day. We'd just have to get to the Institute and back in that time. We'd look like grown up students – apprentice apothecaries, maybe - and they're allowed in."

"London and back in a day," mused Harry. "We could probably do it. We could say we were going to Hogsmeade."

"I can ask the librarian or whoever about Upas potions as well."

"Fair enough," said Harry. "Let's do it."

Professor McGonagall's face poked out of the fireplace.

"Will ye quit bletherin' an go t' bed?" she hissed.

"Sorry, Miss," they chorused and went to their dormitories. Harry lay awake there for what seemed like hours listening to Ron and Neville's steady breathing. At last though, he thought, I'll be doing something. Snape thinks he's winning but we're catching up.

* * *

Leaving the dining hall the next morning, they found McGonagall and Filch setting up a display outside the Transfiguration classroom, showing off several of the fourth year students' term projects. Hermione's, a transformation of a handful of straw and string into a dewy gardenia corsage, had of course won first of house and was displayed prominently along with three others. They paused to look at Justin Finch-Fletchley's transformation of a pair of bricks into running shoes, and Terry Boot's scissors made from a silken scarf. At the end of the case, a green-lined fish tank displayed a small yellow apple in various stages of transformation. Above it a Golden Snitch fluttered and bounced from wall to wall. The label read _Slytherin: Draco Malfoy_.

"Much better than his usual work," sniffed Hermione. "Nothing wrong with his magical powers."

"Perhaps he didn't get enough potion to affect them," said Harry. "Or he didn't take a second draught."

McGonagall came out of the classroom with a fifth case floating at the end of her wand, this one marked _Most Improved: Vincent Crabbe_. It held a silver Sickle which had been transformed into a heart-shaped brooch. "Quite good, isn't it? " she remarked. "I'm only sorry I couldn't put Mr. Crabbe on display. He seems to have been transformed himself."

* * *

The Monday after midterm exams dawned damp and foggy. The ceiling-sky of the Great Hall looked like a dirty dishcloth, thought Harry as he chewed on his toast. He would need the warm clothes that he was wearing for flying to London. Beside him, Ron and Hermione were equally well covered. He noticed that Hermione had taken down her braids. "I couldn't get used to them," she explained, fluffing her ponytail where it frizzed out from the clasp. "But it was worth trying."

He finished his last mouthful. "Let's go," he said, standing up and brushing the crumbs off. Professor McGonagall was sitting at the staff table; she caught his eye and beckoned him over.

"Where are you going all bundled up like that, Potter?" she asked.

"To Hogsmeade, Professor," said Harry. It was not exactly a lie since the Shrieking Shack was on its outskirts. "We'll be flying again."

"In this weather?" said Professor McGonagall. "And with storms forecast? I don't want you getting lost in the mist or hit by lightning. No, I think it would be safer altogether if you left the broomsticks here. Headmaster? I think you will agree with me for once?"

Snape was just finishing his own breakfast. Without looking at Professor McGonagall he said, "Potter may fly to Hogsmeade."

"May I ask why?" said Professor McGonagall.

"Because I say so," replied Snape and walked out of the Hall, his cloak billowing behind him.

Professor McGonagall swallowed hard and pressed her lips together. Harry left the room feeling strangely guilty.

They reached the Shrieking Shack by the tunnel under the Whomping Willow and assembled round a table in one of its ruined rooms. All was quiet so early in the morning and the surrounding mist deadened any remaining sound.

Hermione took out the scroll on which she had written the glamorizing charm and raised her wand. "Remember," she said "this will make us look and sound as if we're a few years older but it won't change how we are really, not like the Polyjuice Potion. It's really quite interesting..."

Ron sighed heavily. Hermione pursed her lips and began to chant:

 _As the egg to the bird_

 _As the bud to the flower_

 _As the river to the sea_

 _As the seed to the corn_

 _Forma in figuram nunc transformo_

 _Faciem figo, fingo, orno_

She moved the wand over Ron and Harry's heads and finally her own.

Foe a moment it was as if a bright light shone in Harry's face. Then his vision cleared.

There was a young woman sitting where Hermione had been. Her hair was wavy rather than bushy and her face, while he still recognised it, had somehow relaxed. This Hermione looked a much happier person altogether.

"It worked!" he said and then wondered where the booming was coming from. He realised that it was his own deep voice.

"It certainly did!" answered an equally low voice next to him. It was Ron, who seemed to have turned into his elder brother Charlie.

Hermione took a mirror out of her pocket. Harry saw that her clothes seemed to have grown up with her. "I don't know how that got in there," she said. She gazed into it silently for some moments before passing it over to Harry. He held it up to his face. At first he thought that he was back in front of the Mirror of Erised. His father's face was gazing back at him except that this reflection did not smile or wave.

"Let me have a look," said Ron, taking the mirror. "Oh, great! Why do I have to look just like my brothers? I already wear all their old clothes!"

"We'd better get going," Harry said, and pulled out the map and compass he had borrowed from Hagrid. He checked the coordinates, watching as the compass needle with a bat carved at its end swung to North.

"I suppose the brooms will still carry us?" said Ron as they walked outside. Both he and Harry had brought their Quidditch sticks and Hermione was to share Harry's.

"Of course," replied Hermione. "Remember, we only look older and bigger."

They climbed to the top floor and pushed off into the mist. For a few minutes it was like flying through wet blankets. Then they burst through into the icy dawn and following the compass, set out for London.


	23. Frost, part 3

The card that the Director of the Institute of Potions had given to Hermione had a little map on one of its many sides with "We are Here!" written on it next to a gold cauldron symbol. It began to twinkle as they flew over what Harry recognised from Muggle school trips as the museums of South Kensington.

"I've been here before with my old school and I never noticed a potions institute," he told Ron. "Mind you, it was all so boring I was probably half asleep."

Ron groaned. "We used to get dragged along to the Museum of Magic. I mean, how many wands of well-known wizards do you need to see? And the really good stuff like the chimera skeletons, they keep locked up! The International Quidditch Hall of Fame was much better!"

"I used to come to the Science Museum on Saturdays just to look round," said Hermione. "What was I thinking of?" She chuckled.

They landed in a graveyard fronting on a narrow street, Fyon Alley. At the end of it loomed a large, blank building. They walked up a flight of stairs to its front doors.

"The Institute of Potions," read Hermione. "Open to members 7.00 am to 11.00 pm every day. Qualified visitors may request admittance at the front desk. Let me do the talking there," she said to Harry and Ron as they walked in.

The doors opened into a cavernous hall with a black marble floor and wood panelling all around it. Busts of famous alchemists were lined up around the edges. They all looked suspiciously similar to Harry. A large group portrait, floodlit by torches, hung on one wall. In it a stout wizard stood before a cauldron, his arm spread out majestically to a group of attentive colleagues. A large grey wolf drowsed at his feet.

"Hephrastus Diggle Discovers The Wolfsbane Potion" read out Ron. "I never realised it was just the one bloke."

"It wasn't! 'Hephrastus Diggle gets all the ruddy credit while someone else cleans up the mess' is what it ought to say!" hissed a small figure in the bottom left hand corner of the picture.

"Oh, shut up, you whinging git!" roared the painted figure of Diggle and all the surrounding wizards burst out arguing. The wolf looked out at Ron, yawned, and settled its nose on its paws.

There was a sharp cough from the other end of the hall. "I had just got them all to shut up and stand still," said a reproachful voice. Harry saw a young man, no more than twenty himself, standing behind a reception desk. The name plate in front of him read "Crispin Lycett".

"We're sorry," said Hermione, walking over to him. "We just wanted to know if we could look something up in the Institute's records."

The young man blushed and pushed his glasses back up his nose. "Er, right," he said, looking much too hard at Hermione. "Sorry, I don't usually yell like that. I thought you were just daft tourists but I can see you're not... Um, do you have some identification or do you know someone here?"

"I've got a card from the director," said Hermione, handing it over.

"That should be fine," answered Crispin quickly. "Any particular area?"

"Attempts at making transference potions," Hermione told him.

Crispin's face lit up. "That's what I'm studying!" he exclaimed. " I didn't think anyone else in the world was interested in it! No one ever wants to hear what I know about it. Great! And all three of you want to look things up about it? We don't have that much in the public collection, it being a bit of a dark subject, you realise. We have another library for that kind of stuff but it's strictly members and by prior appointment only. Of course, I could always tell you what I know about it…"

"We could go and look at the books and you could stay here and talk to Mr Lycett," suggested Harry. Hermione blushed and smiled.

"Oh please do," answered Crispin. "I hardly ever have anyone interesting to look at, I mean talk to, when I'm working here…well, when I'm anywhere, to be honest. Just write your names in the register and I'll let you two in. I'm supposed to call someone down to escort you but it hardly seems worth it. I'm sure your, um, friends? ...can find their own way."

"School friends, I mean old school friends," replied Hermione. "I'm Hermione by the way." She wrote the name in the register.

"So that's how it's pronounced. I've always wondered," said Crispin. "Her-my-oh-knee! Lovely! Like something you'd put in a really complicated potion!"

Ron silently rolled his eyes. When Crispin gave them the register, Harry wrote Piers Polkiss and Ron put Gilderoy Lockhart. Crispin was obviously not going to read them so it made no difference.

"Just go straight up the stairs and to your right and you'll find what you're looking for in the top far corner of the library," he told them, unlocking a door beside his desk. "You can't miss it. Anyway, all there is on the left are the staff and member records and you don't want them. The ghoul at the door would stop you going in, anyway."

"You have an actual ghoul working here?" asked Harry.

"No, he's a warlock but I just don't like him," said Crispin, ushering them through. "Ring the bell when you want to come out."

Harry and Ron walked up a narrow flight of stone stairs, leaving Hermione and Crispin chattering animatedly. Harry nodded to his friend; at the top they turned right, giving the snuffly old warlock in front of the door on the left a pleasant smile, and dodged between the shelves of the Potions Library. They stood still for a few moments to check that no one was looking, but the only student there between the vast cliffs of leather-bound books was fast asleep with his head on his desk. Harry pulled the invisibility cloak out of his pocket and draped it over himself and Ron. Then they stepped back out onto the landing and holding their breath, shuffled past the guard and along a short corridor into the staff records room.

It was a small chamber, lined from floor to ceiling with boxes marked with years and letters, and judging by the look of it, no one had visited it for some time. After checking that they were alone, Harry took the cloak off. The movement sent up swirls of dust from the floor and for an awful moment he thought that he was going to sneeze out loud. He clapped his hand over his mouth and Ron grabbed his nose.

"I can'd bthe, you idt!" he whispered and Ron took his fingers away.

"Where will Snape be?" he hissed.

"He's the same year as my father, so 1975," said Harry. They followed the boxes around the wall until they reached "S" for that year, high on a shelf. Harry clambered up on Ron's shoulders and pulled down the container.

"Here he is!" he said, pulling out an envelope marked _Snape, S_. "Let's see what it says."

There was a small bundle of papers inside but the contents were summarised on the first sheet.

 **Severus Snape**

Born 1957, Chelmsford, Essex, U.K.

Hogwarts graduate, 1975 OWLS: 11. NEWTS: 4. Distinction: Potions, D.A.D.A.

Apprentice Alchemist, Institute of Potions, 1975-77

Scrolls of merit, 1975 and 1976

Master Alchemist, Institute of Potions, 1977-78.

Three letters patent

See special note from Chief Alchemist Jigger: Mr. Snape is highly productive, but increasingly irascible, even a bit erratic.

Below this was a gap of several lines width followed by

Record expunged by decree of the Ministry of Magic, 1978-79

Orderly, Asylum for the Bewitched, Schuders, Switzerland: 1979-80

Personal assistant to Albus Dumbledore, Hogwarts Academy 1980-82

Professor (Potions), Hogwarts Academy, 1982-present

The last entry, made only a few weeks earlier, noted his promotion to Headmaster.

"What does that mean, 'Record Expunged'?" whispered Harry.

"Percy told me about it once," answered Ron. "It's when you do something bad but for some reason they don't put you in prison. They write it down and tell you if you can keep out of trouble for, say, a year, then they'll wipe out whatever they had against you. Back at that time there were so many people mixed up in dodgy stuff, there wasn't room to stick them all in Azkaban."

"So Snape did something Dark when he was a student but then he reformed and they cleaned up his record?"

"Or they could have just wiped it anyway. Remember, Lucius Malfoy was already a big name by then."

Ron kept guard as Harry noted down the details. Then they put the cloak back on and edged back onto the landing and into the Potions Library. Harry hoped that no one would wonder about the trail of dusty footprints from one room to the other.

In the library, the student was still asleep. Harry whipped off the invisibility cloak and they spent a few minutes in the top far corner arranging various books on a desk. Then they raced down the stairs.

Crispin opened the door when they rang the bell. "Found what you were looking for?" he asked them absently. "Well, as I was saying, Hermione, Milk of Upas does exist but I'm sure that no one makes it these days. Of course there's Upas Water. That's a much weaker version. They use it in mental hospitals, you know, to deplete the inmates' magical powers before they do themselves harm. But real Upas Milk will kill you, even a few spoonfuls – it was originally developed as a concealable poison, you know, the kind that only takes a drop to do its dirty work."

"But someone could make Upas Milk if they wanted to?" persisted Hermione.

"They'd have an awful job getting hold of the sap," said Crispin. "The tree only grows in Java, you know, and there's just one family there who know how to collect it safely. Anyone else would just be overcome by the fumes. Then they won't sell it to people unless they've got permission to buy it from the Institute of Potions - and we only give that to hospitals. No, you can't make milk of Upas any more."

"We ought to get going, Hermione," said Harry.

"Oh, OK, " said Hermione reluctantly. She got up from her chair. "Thanks for all your help, Crispin."

"One more thing, Hermione, there are rumors that a student at this very Institute had a go at a transference potion not that many years ago. You're supposed to be able to hear the ghostly moans of the lab partner he killed in the process if you go into the dungeons late at night – but personally I don't believe it."

"Hermione, we really need to get back," said Ron insistently.

"Oh, all right, Gilderoy," she said over her shoulder to him. "I really enjoyed talking with you, Crispin. It's been a pleasure."

"Here, take this list of forthcoming lectures. You might see something you like," Crispin replied. "And thank you. It's nice to talk to someone who knows about potions and isn't a greasy little swot like me!"

Harry decided that working that out was one more complication than he needed. He and Ron thanked Crispin in their turn and followed Hermione to the door.

"Don't take this the wrong way but you're acting a bit weird for you," Ron muttered to her. Hermione simply smiled.

"Will you be back? Will I see you again?" Crispin called out from the desk.

Hermione turned. "Probably not for a few years I'm afraid," she said, concealing a smile.

They walked back to the graveyard where they had hidden their brooms. "Shall we change back now?" asked Hermione. "I've had enough of being old for a while. But it was interesting."

Harry and Ron nodded. "It doesn't matter now." Hermione waved her wand and recited the charm backwards. Suddenly, Ron was Ron, not Charlie and Hermione was a bushy haired girl with a slight frown between her eyebrows. Harry knew without looking that his father's face had disappeared.

Harry gave Hermione the details that he had copied from Snape's file to read as they rode back to Hogwarts, Hermione sitting behind Ron this time. "I wonder what he was doing in Switzerland?" she wondered aloud. "But it looks like definite proof that he was on the Dark."

" _Is_ on the Dark" answered Harry. "It explains where he got that Upas potion from. He could have been thinking about this and plotting it with Lucius Malfoy for years."

They rode on in silence. The mist had cleared while they had been in the Institute but it was now late in the afternoon and the light was already fading.

"Stop so I can have a look at the map," Harry said. They hovered in mid-air as he unfolded it and checked their route. Just as he was about to put it away, a small place name caught his eye. "G's Hollow, village" it read. A quick look at the landmarks showed that it was barely three miles away.

Harry stared at the map for what seemed like a long while. He had known for quite some time that this was where his parents had lived and died but he had never thought of it as a real place. Now the temptation to see it was overwhelming.

"What is it, Harry?" Hermione's voice broke in.

He pointed silently to the map.

"Oh," she said and handed it to Ron.

"You don't want to go there _now_ , do you?" asked Ron.

Harry shrugged. "Yes," he answered finally. "I just need to see it. It won't take long."

Godric's Hollow was set within a small wood, the roofs peeping out between bare autumn branches. Everything was quiet and still as they flew over it. Smoke rose from a chimney and a dog barked but nothing more. Harry realised that he had been expecting a fire-blackened house somewhere but of course, he reasoned, it would long since have been demolished.

"Have you seen enough?" Hermione asked gently.

"I'd just like to land for a moment," he replied. Why, he didn't know. Perhaps, he thought, if I touch the earth, there'll be a memory there...

They came down in a small clearing which surrounded them with silence as easily as the mist had done earlier. The grass underneath was damp. Ron shivered but he and Hermione waited patiently, hovering on their broom as Harry got off the Firebolt and walked a few paces around. Between the tree trunks he spotted a house a few hundred yards away. He wondered what would happen if he knocked on the door. Had the people who lived there been there fourteen years ago? Would they remember a young couple and a little boy? He could hear the imaginary conversation in his head.

He stood still for a moment taking the scene in. It was after all only a damp forest glade but still it was his first home, his parents' home, somewhere they had been happy for a while. They might even have brought him here to play. It was a comforting thought. But I mustn't brood about it, he told himself. We have something definite on Snape now; I have to fight him and Voldemort like my father and mother did. And I'll win and they won't have died for nothing. It was a comforting thought and he felt a surge of excitement run through him.

He was about to turn back when out of the corner of his eye, he caught a flicker of movement and stopped.

Behind him, Ron hissed, "There's someone coming through the trees! Get back!"

Instinctively Harry turned to face the approaching figure. It was wrapped in a dark cloak and at first Harry thought it must be a witch or wizard. But as it reached the edge of the clearing he saw that it was neither. It was a dementor.


	24. Frost, part 4

Harry watched its black robe trailing on the ground with a kind of fascination as it glided around the clearing. It raised its hood and turned toward him. A cool prickly wave swept over him, like a splash of cold water. Whatever was it doing here? Could he make it back to his broom and the others before it caught up with him? Glancing back, he saw that he had wandered further than he had realised and could not be sure.

Instead he took out his wand and began to concentrate as Lupin had taught him the year before. "I'm going to beat Snape, I'm going to win, _expecto patronum,_ " he told himself urgently. But no silver came from the end of the wand. As he spoke, he remembered that he had not made his Patronus since the night he had helped Sirius Black to escape. It was as if that part of his mind had gone to sleep and was now waking up with pins and needles.

He realised that in an instant, even as he sensed Ron and Hermione flying up as near as they dared behind him, near enough for Harry to hear Hermione whispering "Please, I want to grow up and be happy."

Now the dementor was coming closer. Harry could feel the air becoming icy cold. His head began to thump and swim. Once again he heard his mother's voice. " _Expecto patronum,_ " he croaked again but it was no use. He surrendered himself to the mist and the voices. But this time they were different.

"Have you got Harry, James?"

"Yes, Lily," came what he recognised as his father's voice. Then James Potter's face was looking down at him with a lopsided grin. "There you are, baby Harry."

There was the feel of a metal spoon and then an awful bitter taste in Harry's mouth. His baby self began to wail and his father hushed him. "Don't let your mother hear you cry," he said and the vision faded.

He realised that he had fallen to his knees on the wet earth. Ron was shouting but the words seemed to come from under water. With a final effort, Harry lifted his head and found that he was staring straight up into the dementor's face. But the thing that was looking down at him was not the dreadful sunken eye holes and sucking mouth of the last dementor he had confronted. This one seemed to have no sockets at all , only blank, lichen-like skin, and its mouth was a ragged slit. Now that it was close, Harry could also see that it was nothing like as tall as it should have been.

Although he was still deathly cold, Harry suddenly recognised that his mind was starting to clear. This dementor was not affecting him as all the others had. As he wondered if he dared move, it began to glide away itself. Two scabby hands, more like an animal's claws than human, came out of its cloak. It stopped after a few feet, bent double and began to paw at the soft earth of the forest floor. "It can't sense me any more now my happy thought has gone," thought Harry in a flash. "It needs to find me by touch."

"We're behind you, Hermione's holding the Firebolt," he heard Ron saying. "Just move back very slowly and grab hold of it and we'll fly straight up."

For a moment, Harry hesitated. He knew that if he did not move away, the voices might start and yet... A new thought hit him. _I might hear something else new_.

"Harry, quick!" urged Hermione.

He began to edge backwards along the ground, still facing the dementor. Once it had tired of a particular patch of earth, it would suddenly make an abrupt sideways glide, quick as a cockroach, and pounce on another bit of ground to poke. Just a few yards, he told himself. The thing was quite close now but still it could not find him.

He felt the end of his broom bumping into his shoulder blades. "Stand up now and get on," Ron told him. But even as Harry did so, the dementor made one last mad rush across the clearing floor.

"Quick, quick, it's coming!" called Hermione. Harry scrambled onto the Firebolt, desperately waving his wand as the creature came nearer, its scabby claws grasping at the empty air, closer and closer until with a last desperate swipe it caught the end of the wand.

"Up!" yelled Ron and both brooms rose like rockets. The wand tip came out of the clammy hand, Harry felt a last blast of grave-like cold and then they were all three flying high above the trees and away from Godric's Hollow.

They landed in the branches of a large oak tree a few minutes later. Harry could still feel himself trembling slightly.

"Are you all right now? Whatever came over you?" asked Ron. "Couldn't you use the Patronus?"

Harry shook his head. "I haven't done that for a few months, and I couldn't concentrate. I was thinking too hard about what the dementor made me remember." He described the little scene with his father to them.

"So you didn't hear your mother screaming this time?" asked Hermione. "Why would you remember something different?"

"Because the dementor wasn't so close to me?" suggested Harry. "And it was a bit of a bad memory, that stuff tasted foul. I suppose it was some kind of medicine. Anyway, was it really a dementor?" He described the thing's face. "It made me feel awful, but not like the other ones did. I don't think it was as powerful either. And it was blind - it had to feel for me to find me."

"I hated it, but no, it didn't make me feel as bad as that one last year," answered Ron.

Hermione nodded in agreement. "Nor I," she said, then "Harry, what's happened to your wand?"

Harry looked down and drew in his breath. Grey, sticky scabs clung to the wand tip and he wiped it on the tree branch in disgust. But then he was able to see that the end had been broken open. He lifted it up and peered inside. There was the phoenix feather that Mr Ollivander had told him would be there. Most of it was as beautifully golden and red as he had expected. But the very end was now black and rotting.

"It must have happened when that thing caught hold of it," he said, dismayed . "What if it's broken? They said that this was my wand at the shop. Suppose I can't get another one?"

"The tip will go back on," Hermione told him, snapping it back into place and murmuring a quick charm. "Just try something simple with it."

Harry lifted the wand up, pointed it at a twig that was lying on the fork of the tree and chanted " _Wingardium leviosa!_ ". It rose for a moment but then began to turn in strange whirling patterns.

"Well, it's not completely broken but it's not right," Ron told him, "the feather needs to be replaced. There's always Fawkes."

"But how would he explain what happened to this wand?" put in Hermione. "They don't just break on their own, and then there's that black stuff. Hagrid might feel he had to tell Professor McGonagall that we'd been up to something; we'd be confined to school bounds with a homing charm.

"Not to mention months of detention," added Ron.

As for what the creature had been doing at Godric's Hollow, they could not think.

"Some kind of defective one that's gone wild?" suggested Ron. "But the ministry should be after it. And why there?"

They rode on back to Hogwarts, munching some chocolate frogs that Ron had found in a pocket.

"Something I forgot to tell you," said Hermione when they were almost home. "That list of lectures and things that Crispin gave me: Snape is on it. He's giving something called the Nicolas Flamel Memorial Lecture in a couple of months time."

"I pity the poor sods who'll be listening then," answered Ron.

"Crispin said that it was quite prestigious. Snape wasn't supposed to be giving it but then they changed it so that he was. It put quite a few noses out of joint."

"So who fixed it so he could?" asked Harry.

"Crispin wasn't sure," said Hermione. "But there's an L. Malfoy on the board of governors at the Institute."

They landed by the Shrieking Shack in silence and began to walk back through the town, reaching the Great Hall just in time to grab some dinner. Harry saw Professor McGonagall frowning at him from the staff table and looked hastily away.

"Where did you get to?" Neville asked him. "People were wondering where you were all over Hogsmeade."

"Just out," shrugged Harry. The events of the day were whirling inside his brain. He ate as quickly as he could and nodded to Ron and Hermione to follow him out. They found a quiet spot in the Library and huddled down.

"So now we know what happened," whispered Harry. "Snape went over to the Dark when he was a student; like he said in Professor Takushiki's class – "

"Yeah," nodded Ron.

"Well, he did something wrong, but we don't know what," said Hermione cautiously, rereading the notes that Harry had made on Snape's file.

"We can guess," Ron said impatiently.

"Then Lucius Malfoy fixed it to clear his record..."

"Right!"

"We don't know that for certain, just that there's some kind of gap…"

"Oh, shush, Hermione, let Harry finish."

"O.K. Then he meets Lucius Malfoy, they plot to help Voldemort kill Dumbledore, Snape comes up with that Upas potion - it was probably Lucius who got him the sap…"

"But Crispin said that no one could get hold of it without going through the Institute…"

"Well, he must have done, go on Harry..."

"You said yourself there was a Malfoy on the board of governors – or he could have gotten it from someone at that Swiss place. Then Snape gives Dumbledore the potion - I just realised, he must have known that Dumbledore was planning to fight Voldemort, they must have seen it would be much more difficult for Voldemort to get to him after he left Hogwarts..."

"And the potion made sure that Dumbledore couldn't defend himself! Now Snape isn't acting grateful enough to Lucius for making him headmaster."

"Dumbledore didn't stand a chance!"

"Then how come Draco is fine?" asked Hermione. "What about that project he did? That was better than his usual stuff."

"He didn't take the second draught?" shrugged Ron.

Hermione pulled out her notebook. "But there's something else," she said worriedly. "That potion book of Snape's didn't say anything about a second draught. And it said that Upas Milk had the same effect on anyone who drank it, man or child. But Harry said that Snape told Dumbledore that the potion he was giving him was prepared differently according to the age of the drinker. And finally there's the dose. A whole goblet full. So how could it be Upas Milk?"

Harry stared at her confused. He could see what he was sure had happened as clearly as a comic strip running through his brain; Snape meeting Lucius Malfoy, bending over the fuming cauldron to brew the potion, Dumbledore drinking it, feeling himself becoming weaker… "He must have been lying. After all, Dumbledore wouldn't have asked Snape for Upas Milk, would he?"

"Don't say you're on Snape's side," broke in Ron. "Stop nitpicking. We know what went on, now we've got to stop him doing something to Hecate."

"Of course I'm on your side! But Crispin said..."

"Oh, _Crispin said,"_ muttered Ron, rolling his eyes. "Better not let Crabbe hear you talking about him, he might get jealous – or he would do if he wasn't so stupid. You've been hanging round with Slytherins too much, or that dumb hair stuff's got into your brain. That's what you should be asking questions about, why you're sticking with someone who's mean and a bully and who'll be laughing at you as soon as that love potion's worn off, instead of helping your real friends when they need you..."

"What do you mean when the potion's worn off?" asked Hermione. "You don't mean that crazy story about Vince and the bandages, do you?"

There was an awkward pause as she looked from Ron to Harry and back again. Then Ron muttered, "I swear it's true, Hermione. We found out that Crabbe took some of your love potion that day we made them in potions. He dropped a roll of bandages in your cauldron to get some of it. That's the only reason he's been nice to you these last few weeks. But it's not going to last, is it?"

"He thinks I'm pretty!" burst out Hermione, "and no one ever says that to me! They always say I'm clever. I don't care if it is the potion." Her eyes began to fill with tears.

Ron put his arm round her awkwardly and squeezed her shoulder. "O.K." he said. "Sorry. But what is going to happen when that love potion you made wears off him?"

"I don't know," admitted Hermione.

"It's not even as if you took any of his," put in Harry.

"But I did," said Hermione in a low voice. "I burned my fingers on the potion in his cauldron and sucked them. But I think I like him anyway."

She rubbed her eyes briskly and looked down at her notebook. "There's something else. I copied down that other potion from Snape's book. Maybe that has something to do with this as well. But it's more like a code than anything else. I wrote out some of the letters for the Runes master and all he can say about them is that they look Egyptian. He told me to check at the British Museum over the holidays. But that's all the way back in London. Oh, why does it have to be so complicated?"

"I bet you the second potion is what he's going to use on Hecate once she tells him what Dumbledore says," said Ron suspiciously.

"Well, keep looking if you can," Harry told her. "But I think what we're going to have to do now is wait for Dumbledore to speak to Hecate and then make sure Snape doesn't get to her before she can tell someone what really happened when he died."

He went back to the dorm. What else can I do? he thought. Taking paper and quill, he penned a short note, addressed it to the manager of Flourish and Blotts, and went down to the owlery to give it to Hedwig. If this works, he thought, I'll have a gift for Hermione too. I just wonder what it will be.

* * *

Harry's head was hurting, and he felt cold all over. His toys were on the floor but above him, instead of ceiling, he saw smoke and a dark sky with tree branches and stars. I must be inside the dream again, he thought warily, and looked around with infant eyes. In a corner, the smaller man struggled to lift the larger one, then lurched across the room to where the fireplace still smoldered. "The Malfoy stables!" he cried, throwing the Floo powder, and vanished with his burden. The drone of the motorcycle grew to a roar, and Harry jolted awake to find himself in his own bed, his heart pounding. He drew a deep, ragged breath and as he let it out slowly, willing his body to relax, he became aware of a noise outside the dormitory. Silently he crept to the door and cracked it open. Soft footsteps sounded on the stair, and then a whispered voice: "Go back, Crookshanks. Good kitty." In the darkness he saw the cat's low form spring onto the landing, but instead of returning to the girls' dormitory he poured through the open door and wound himself around Harry's legs.

Harry gave him a nudge. "I'll take care of it, Crooks," he whispered, watching the cat slide back out the door and across the landing. Quickly he put on woolen socks and pulled the invisibility cloak off the wall. She's probably going to meet Crabbe, he thought. She'll need protection. As soon as he slipped out of the portrait hole, he saw her, dimly, at the end of the hall. Crabbe was waiting for her. She took his hand and they sat down on a bench.

"Vince, we have to talk," she whispered. "Ron and Harry have been telling me that you took some of my love potion. A whole story about a bandage. Did you?"

"Yes," said Crabbe, leaning toward her, "it's all true. But it was only after you tasted mine in Potions class."

"But that was a mistake. Vince, after all Snape's warnings, why would you take it on purpose?"

Crabbe shifted his feet uncomfortably. "Because…I thought it would make you love me back."

"But _your_ potion would make _me_ love _you_ , if it worked at all. When you took mine it made you love me, and you must have taken a lot more than I did."

Crabbe hesitated, scratching his ear. He was thinking, and it was hard work. "Then…why are you so nice to me?" he asked.

Hermione sighed and reached for his hand. "Because, when you're in love with me, you're a really nice guy. You make me want to love you back."

Now it was Crabbe's turn to sigh. "Hermione…are you sure it's not just the potion? What'll happen when it wears off?"

There was a silence. "I'm not sure. Maybe it already did – wouldn't that be the best? But right now I don't care why I like you. I just do."

"Awww, Hermione," breathed Crabbe. "I just want to hug you."

From his vantage point behind a statue, Harry saw Crabbe put his fat hand gently on Hermione's shoulder and look deep into her eyes. Ugh, he's going to kiss her, thought Harry, and then an even more repulsive thought, she's going to kiss him.


	25. Frost, part 5

Harry blushed and turned away. But how to stop them? Hermione could get in real trouble being out here after hours, he reasoned. If Filch catches them, she'll get detention, and if he spreads the story around she'll never hear the end of it. I'm doing this for her own good, he thought, and raised his foot to make a noise.

He didn't have to. With a loud creak the portrait hole swung open and two figures slipped out. In the silence he could hear them whispering.

"That was a piece of cake! He wasn't even there!"

"Probably out snogging somewhere with Cho Chang. If you see him on the map, just pretend not to notice – marauders' courtesy and all that."

"Right, it's not our company he'll be wanting." Harry recognized Fred's chuckle, just a bit more raucous than his twin's.

"Good thing the Sneakoscope didn't wake anyone up."

"Yeah, you grabbed it just in time. OK, now where to?"

"Back to the dungeons, I guess. We have to find that secret passage. Ron said that you just walk through a wall, but he didn't remember where. Shall we try the corner stairwell this time?"

The twins set off down the hall. Forgetting Hermione and Crabbe, Harry followed as quietly as he could. He was furious with them for taking the map without asking, and knew they would have taken the cloak as well if they had found it. They turned right toward the near stairwell and climbed to the second floor corridor, darting from one statue or suit of armor to the next like soldiers in enemy territory. Pale moonlight filtered through the transoms above the doors, enough that Harry did not have to light his wand. As he approached Takushiki's office the Sneakoscope went off again, making them all jump. Both twins grabbed at it and missed, fumbled for it, chased it along the hall and finally quieted it. It would have been hilarious if they weren't in such danger of being caught. He heard them arguing in hisses as he caught up to them.

"Why'd it do that?"

"I don't know, it was just outside Sugar Lips' office."

"Wait a minute, remember what's in there?"

"Right. Our little note paper. Filch must not have emptied the rubbish yet."

As they hastened to the next statue, Harry ducked inside the empty office. The crumpled pink notepaper lay at the top of the dustbin. He unfolded it and silently read,

 _Dearest Argus, my heart cries out for your tender love…_

The rest was a mass of cross-outs and erasures. That is so cruel, thought Harry, jamming the note into his pocket. He peeked out of the door and seeing all clear set off after the twins again. At the corner stairwell he had to feel his way downwards, past the double trip step four treads down from the first floor, into the dungeons. A flash of light in the stairwell told him that they were in the second level below ground. He turned the corner to find them checking the Marauders' Map.

" _Magnificat, magnificat, magnificat, magnificat_.. OK, can you see it now?"

"All right, I'm not blind. Is that it? It's awfully small – don't tell me Marcus Flint ever fit through that."

"Oh rats, look, it's one floor above us, near the Potions lab."

"Still, I'll bet that's it, it must be. Come on, I'll prove it to you." Harry pressed his back against the wall as they trotted past him and back up the stairs. Their wand tips bobbed up and down the corridor in front of him, casting ghastly shadows on the damp stone walls.

"See, I told you. It's right here. It must be behind the student supply cabinet here. That's Snape's office on the other side."

"Wait, Fred – isn't it kind of funny we never saw this before?"

The other figure slowed down and shrugged. "You know how things move around in this place. I'll bet even Snape doesn't know it's there. Let's go back to the second level." They prowled past him and back down the stairs.

Harry had never been so deep in the dungeons at night. The musty odor was overpowering. Luminous patches of fungus at the base of the walls gave off a greenish glow, enough to indicate the passageway, but too faint to see by. He wondered uneasily what it was that felt so sticky under his socks. Far ahead of the twins' wands, a shadow moved in the stairwell. A cloud over the moon? thought Harry – but then he saw it change direction.

The twins had seen it too. They doused their wand-lights and huddled into a niche in the wall – a damp one, judging from the muted hissing and pushing sounds that issued from it. The light grew brighter and suddenly shone full in Harry's eyes. It was Crabbe, wide-eyed with anxiety, searching back and forth with his wand-light until he came to a bare spot of wall. "Noble destiny," he said, his voice trembling, and plunged through it.

"All right – we've got them!" The triumph in Fred's voice was unmistakable.

"Wait – before we leave, let's make sure we know where we are."

"OK, OK. Down the corner stairwell from Potions, take the hall on the left, opposite this little bay with the pillars… Look, there's even a snake carved on one of the stones."

Harry crept up behind them into a scene he vaguely remembered from his adventure with the Polyjuice Potion two years earlier. Just opposite the hidden entrance stood an open, semicircular room with a high ceiling and stone benches. Fog swirled around his feet. He smelled fresh air and looked up to see windows at the top, completely frosted over with the dungeon's dampness.

"Let's get out of here, Fred, we have what we came for," said George, sounding worried.

His brother nodded, and they moved back toward the stairwell, coming out again several flights higher up, on the second floor. They had just stepped into the corridor when a flickering light appeared in front of them.

"Rats, it's Filch – that's his candle. He must know someone's out here. We'll have to go around the long way." They changed direction and resumed their surreptitious progress from one statue to the next, alternately in dim light and darkness as clouds passed over the moon.

"Hold on, what's that up ahead?" Creeping closer, Harry could see the Headmaster's office brightly lit. George and Fred crawled past the door, pausing momentarily to peer through the keyhole. They passed and Harry took a turn. Wrapped in the invisibility cloak, he could look straight in through the door glass.

Snape was at his desk, quill in hand, surrounded by stacks of papers. The flat wooden box lay open in front of him. He looked haggard, and deeply frustrated. Serves him right, thought Harry. He wanted this job, and now he can't handle it. Tough luck. Suddenly Snape jammed the quill into the inkwell and stood up. Instinctively Harry backed away, but Snape remained standing at his desk. He clenched his fists, then put them to his head. "Why can I not understand?" he demanded aloud, his voice grating. Harry saw a motion above his head; one of the portraits had awakened and was gesticulating to the others. Snape began to pace around the office, first to the window, which he flung open, then to the door, staring straight at Harry until his heart rose into his throat. He seemed to be looking for something.

Now you know what it feels like not to have the answer, you nasty old git, thought Harry. Finally Snape stopped in front of the bookcase and hesitated there for a long moment. His thin hand reached out for the Sorting Hat. Slowly, tentatively, he drew it towards him and placed it on his head.

It laughed.

A wave of fury passed over the Headmaster's face. "Insolent old rag!" He ripped off the hat, flung it on the floor and strode away. Above him, the portraits kept watch. After a few paces he stopped and turned back. He took a few deep breaths, controlling his exasperation, and put the Hat on again.

"Don't want to admit it, do you?" cackled the Hat.

Snape's voice fell to a whisper. "That was years ago. Half a lifetime. I was an idiot and I've been paying for it ever since."

Then it's true, breathed Harry. You were on the Dark. You're still on the Dark.

"Are you sure? Don't deceive yourself. It was also the best thing that could have happened to you. Turned your life around. Look at you now, Headmaster of Hogwarts."

"You know that's not what I wanted."

The Hat chuckled again, sardonically. "You'd be surprised how often I've heard that from your predecessors. Oh, I know all about it. You want to direct the Institute of Potions. Have your own research laboratory again; work on the potions of your choice."

Harry's stomach clenched as he remembered the odor of Dumbledore's potion, and the hot feeling of the old notebook. Potions of your choice.

"Have a little patience; Lucius will fix it for you. He has some _fascinating_ things under his drawing room floor."

"No!" Snape hissed. "That carrion – I can't abide the way his darkness…reaches for me."

"You weren't always so particular. But do it your own way. You always did. If you're too proud to ask Lucius, figure it out for yourself. You should know by now how Old Red-eyes thinks –why is he killing Squibs?"

"Because, because…I don't know!" Snape burst out.

"Don't deceive yourself – you know very well," the Hat scolded. "What was it he told you when he gave you old Grindy's potion notebook?

Snape looked down. "No intellectual effort is ever wasted," he said reluctantly.

"Then don't waste it. It's all here in your head, you know, and you can't hide from it any longer, not after that day in Defense class, the rumours are all over the school by now…"

"Don't torment me!"

"No one's tormenting you but you. Go get some fresh air. Have a look out the window. You can bear it, now that the windowsill's been replaced. Take it a little at a time…"

"Ahhhh," breathed Snape. "That's it, how could I have missed it? That's what he's up to."

The Hat sniffed. "Good lad!" it exclaimed sarcastically. Snape's lips thinned. "Now what will you do next?"

"I suppose you can see that in my head too?" growled Snape.

"Nope," said the Hat cheerfully. "Try me again in a week or so. Meanwhile, wash your hair. Like it or not, you're Headmaster now, and if you want any respect from Malfoy, you'd better act the part."

Snape began to pace again, steadying the hat with one hand. "I must discover where the Dark Lord is and what his next action will be," he mused aloud.

"Lucius will tell you when he's ready. Or you could ask, couldn't you? You two are such _good_ friends. Isn't he always ready to do you a favor?" asked the hat with singsong mock innocence.

"He asks questions, he doesn't answer them, as you know perfectly well," retorted Snape.

"As well as you do? When are you going to tell him what was in that potion?" The Hat sniggered. "The two of you are like a couple of squabbling schoolgirls. Always playing catty little head games with each other. You just love those games, don't you? You can one-up any student in the school, you put Remus Lupin in his place last year, but this time, boy-o, you've met your…"

Snape snatched off the Hat and flung it back on the bookcase. The broad rip in its brim grinned widely for a moment and then it was still.

Just then the Headmaster froze, as if listening to something. Harry heard it too, off to his left: quiet footsteps, first running, then pausing. Whispers echoed along the corridor to him.

"So, where else do you have them hidden?"

"I don't. That was the last one. When Filch hears old Sourpuss yell I guarantee he'll come running."

"Right, then we can get back to the dorm."

Harry turned to his right. Was he imagining it, or was someone else there? The other footsteps sounded and he took the opportunity to edge across the hallway, away from the door. Suddenly Fred was right in front of him, peeking through the keyhole, George at his back.

"He's still at his desk. I'll open the door, and you throw it in."

"On the count of three. One, two, …"

Without warning, the Sneakoscope went off. There was a loud yelp, and Filch jumped out from behind the bench in the corridor. "GOTCHA!" he shrieked, seizing a struggling Fred around the neck. Without hesitation, George grasped the back of Filch's collar and jammed something down into his shirt. "Hey! what? what?" Filch cried, dropping his prey and turning around wildly as the twins pounded away down the corridor. Now Snape was at the door, now he was turning the knob, and – POOF! – a rich stench filled the air. The dungbomb had burst open. "Aaah! You limbs of the Dark!" howled Filch, coughing and choking. Ignoring him, Snape ran down the hall after the twins, wand in hand. Harry followed, barely keeping up with Snape's long stride. He couldn't let the twins be caught – they had his map and his Sneakoscope, and if they were expelled, as now seemed likely, he might be too. Snape's heavy footfalls echoed in the dark corridors and up the stairwell. Arriving on the fourth floor, Harry saw the twins disappearing around a corner to the left. Snape pointed his wand and began to mutter. The noise of footsteps started off after them as Snape ducked behind a statue, panting.

Oh no, thought Harry, he'll get them as soon as they come back around. He began tiptoeing down the corridor to the right, as quietly as possible. He didn't remember ever having been in this part of the castle. Instead of windowed classrooms, small storage rooms and narrow hallways led off the main corridors. How would he find the twins in such a maze? Then he heard whispering.

"Fred – this one's open! Let's hide out till he goes away."

"Are you kidding? What if he locks us in?"

"We'll jimmy the lock. Come on." Followed by Harry, they slipped through a short open door into a small room filled with heavily draped furniture. They scurried behind a couch and doused their wands.

In the pitch darkness Harry could hear two sets of heavy footsteps approaching. "Get some rest, professor," said Filch's voice. "There's always a next time with them two." He coughed. "Ugh. I'm going back to have a wash."

"As you please, Filch."

Harry listened until the steps died away. Then he heard them again. One person, coming closer, slowly, haltingly.

The door opened and Snape ducked through, his wand brightly lit. The candle brackets around the walls flickered into brightness as he entered. He advanced toward a tall, round-topped object and flicked away the draperies.

It was the Mirror of Erised.

Snape drew in his breath sharply. "Headmaster…" he murmured in a fading whisper. He looked away for an instant, drew out his wand and pointed it sharply at the mirror. "Show me the Weasley twins – I want to catch them," he commanded. For a long, tense moment he stood there; then his shoulders slumped. "Damn…" Pressing his lips together, Snape thrust his wand away into the folds of his cloak. He took a step toward the mirror and placed his hands on both edges, gazing deeply into it.

When he spoke again it was in a low voice: "I suppose most people look in this glass to see the future of their dreams. I only see a past that never happened. I wish I hadn't gone to Knockturn Alley. I wish I had never met Lucius Malfoy. I wish I hadn't given you that potion. But I did… I did, and now I have to live with it." He drew back, grimacing, and straightened his robes angrily. "You're a dream, that's all. A nightmare. Why should I want to see you, Dumbledore? I was never your golden boy. That was James Potter. Well, I paid you both back, didn't I?"

Snape snatched up the drape and twisted it in his hands. His whisper turned fierce. "Idiot mirror. All you can show me is lies. There's no logic in you. Goodbye, Headmaster." He threw the drape over the mirror and strode out, slamming the door behind him. Instantly every candle flickered out.

In the blackness, Harry leaned against the wall, near tears. What a mockery, he thought. He murdered Dumbledore, he wrecked his plan, and now he wants to be forgiven. He blinked as the twins flicked on their wand-lights and silently crept out from behind the couch.

"What on earth was he talking to?"

"S'got to be that Erised mirror Ron told us about. Took all the starch out of him, didn't it? Did you hear him admit everything?" George shook his head wonderingly.

"I only wish Fudge had heard him – th'old git would be on his way to Azkaban right now."

"Say, Fred – shall we have a look for ourselves?" Holding up their wands, the twins pulled down the drape and looked into the mirror's depths.

"What do you see?" asked George, a bit nervously.

"You first," Fred retorted. "I bet you have Sugar Lips, don't you? 'Fess up, George, my boy."

George laughed. "No, I see us… we're in a dungeon… wait… it must be the Slytherin common room…"

"And we're painting it!"

"Red and gold!" The two slapped hands. "We've _got_ to do it. Can't you just see their faces?"

"Let's do it, then. Shake?" The two clasped hands - and the Sneakoscope went off again.

Harry crouched in the dark, listening until their footsteps died away. Then he ran back down the empty corridors to the common room, his heart pounding.

He scrambled through the portrait hole and threw himself into a chair, furious.

" 'I was never your golden boy!' Oh, poor little Severus, it was everyone else's fault that you were a mean git. I suppose it was my father's fault you went bad and betrayed Dumbledore and ended up a murderer! And now you're feeling guilty and you're worrying about what Voldemort's up to and what little job he's going to make you do next! Because he must know what you were up to all those years ago. I bet he was right there with you. Well, it's too late for you to have cold feet. But don't worry, he won't win. You won't win. My father beat you every time and when it's my turn, I'll beat you again."

* * *

A/N: Pogonia is traveling this week so the next update will be in a week. Please review - it's lovely to hear from readers.


	26. Holidays, part 1

Chapter 8: Holidays

It snowed heavily all of Christmas Eve, and Harry spent the day indoors, feeling alternately trapped and bored. Crabbe was teaching Hermione the fine points of Exploding Snap; the empty Transfiguration classroom had tables a perfect size for the board. The pops and whistles carried down the corridor into the dining hall as he picked at his lunch. "I don't see how he managed to flunk his Charms exam," Hermione complained when she finally joined them. "It was by far his best subject, and Flitwick's never made him nervous before."

Ron let out a snort of laughter and Hermione turned on him, glowering. "Flunking an exam is _not_ funny!" she snapped.

"Isn't it obvious? He flunked it on purpose to stay here with you." Ron could hardly get the words out. "Smartest thing he could have done, if you ask me."

"Oh! He wouldn't!" gasped Hermione, sending Ron into further gales of laughter. She shoveled down her lunch and rushed out. The next time Harry saw her and Crabbe, they were in the library.

Thinking back to that Christmas a year earlier, when he had realised that he could give presents as well as receive them, he had lugged out his purchases and dutifully wrapped them earlier in the evening. Why was it, he wondered, that buying the gifts had been such a pleasure – even the self-tying shoelaces for Dudley – but wrapping them was no more than a chore? He made the rounds with Ron's card, watered Neville's plants, and checked the invisibility cloak, then climbed into his bed and lay there, sleepless. A long while later he heard Ron call down the stairs, "Give it a rest, Fred – we were only playing wizard chess," and stomp into the dormitory, muttering to himself about meddlesome brothers. Even when Ron's breathing had become deep and slow, Harry could not sleep. Somewhere out there, Voldemort was probably killing someone, sucking out their life under Pettigrew's incantation, flanked by those invisible hooded shapes, leaving some strange evidence of his visit that would be discovered too late to do any good. And somewhere in the castle, Snape was plotting, with Lucius, perhaps, or alone in the office where he had given Dumbledore the fatal potion.

Shouts and laughter awakened him the next morning. He glanced automatically to the foot of his bed, but saw no gifts, only a note from Hermione.

 _We're in the common room. Come join us._

Harry pulled on his clothes and some slippers and picked up the bag of gifts. Down in the common room, his friends were sitting in front of a roaring fire sipping hot chocolate and toasting thick slices of banana bread on long forks. "From Hermione's parents," explained Ron, who passed him a mug and plate and made a place for him by the fire.

Harry picked up a familiar-looking lumpy parcel and unwrapped it. Inside was a woolly hand-knitted sweater, soft and thick, and a large tin of fudge. "It's maroon!" exclaimed Ron, as Harry put it on.

Across the circle Ginny giggled shyly. "I finally told Mum you hated that colour," she said. "Go ahead, it's safe to unwrap your own."

At the bottom of the package was a pair of matching socks. Dumbledore would have liked these, he thought, feeling a pang of sorrow. Resolutely he reached for the next package, a box of Ice Mice from Hermione. The Dursleys had sent him a small photograph of themselves, which was passed around the circle with great merriment. Ron's gift was a book on broomstick maintenance and repair and Hagrid's, a pair of heavy sheepskin mittens that he had clearly sewn himself.

Hermione beamed at him and tossed her head as she held up his gift to her, a slender book on hair braiding. He still had the note in his pocket from Flourish and Blotts, informing him that their one volume on Egyptian hieroglyphs had just been sold to a Mr. Vincent Crabbe at the same institution and recommending the enclosed book on his second choice topic, sent on approval. The Chocolate Frogs for Ginny and the Filibuster fireworks for the twins seemed to be successful too. He glanced over at Ron, who was wearing his new green sweater and gnawing on a thick slab of nut brittle from Hagrid. The floor in front of him was empty. That's odd – didn't he get any fudge? wondered Harry.

"Poor Ron, only two gifts this year," teased Fred.

George laughed. "Maybe Father Christmas forgot you."

Harry scowled at him. "But your friends didn't." He handed Ron a large rectangular box. "First the card." Ron opened the envelope and read out

 _A happy Christmas from all of us_

 _Fred, George, Ginny, Harry, Hermione_

"Oh," said Ron softly, then, as the possibility dawned on him, "Oh!" He tore the paper off and lifted the lid of the box. Inside were the Quidditch training gloves, smelling of new leather and oil, their rows of weights gleaming. Not daring to touch them, he looked dumbly around the circle.

"It's all right, Ron, you don't need to say anything," Hermione told him.

Back in the dorm, they found an owl from Sirius. He had sent his condolences on Dumbledore's death, and his assurances that he and Buckbeak were still safe in hiding. There was even a brief note from Lupin, brought by an owl as careworn as his master. Ron took one look at the ragged, shivering bird and shook his head. "He looks worse off than Errol," he said wonderingly.

"Better take him over to Hagrid's," said Harry, opening a bag of owl treats. "He looks like he could use a few good meals and some owl tonic." They left the open bag on top of Trevor's terrarium, the warmest spot in the room, and headed down to the Great Hall.

A sumptuous feast was laid for dinner – crackling roasted ducks and pheasants with thick, ruby-colored cherry sauce; fluffy mounds of rice, golden roasted potatoes, brussels sprouts with chestnuts, buttered green beans stacked up like cordwood, and the chipolata sausages that Dumbledore had loved. Behind the tables towered a dozen stately pines, some hung with icicles, others decorated with elaborate snowflakes, no two alike, and still others bright with ribbons, holly berries, tinkling bells and winking stars. At the staff table, McGonagall stood stiffly to welcome them, explaining that the Headmaster sent his regrets and wished them all a happy Christmas.

"He didn't either," Ron shouted over the noise of wizard crackers going off, "she's only being polite." A commotion at the staff table caught Harry's eye, and he pointed. Hagrid, red-faced from wine and exertion, had picked up McGonagall's chair with her still in it.

"Well then, perfessor, we're givin' you a promotion jus' fer today!" he roared. With a grunt he hoisted the chair overhead and began to push his way toward the middle of the table. Around him the staff broke into applause and shouts of "Hear, hear!" and "Don't drop her!" McGonagall clung gamely to the swaying chair, halfway between terror and hilarity, not daring to look down as Sinistra whisked away the Headmaster's chair and helped Hagrid guide her into the place of honor. A large golden crown squeezed out of the end of Flitwick's wand and sailed over to settle, lopsided, on her head. The hall rang with cheers and the popping of crackers, then Fred and George launched into "For she's a jolly good fellow" and the noise began all over again. When it finally died away, McGonagall rose again and set her crown aside. She raised the glass of wine that Hagrid had poured for her and lifted it into the air.

"I would like to propose a toast," she began. For a brief moment she bowed her head, and her glass dipped and trembled. Then she raised her head and took a deep breath. "To absent friends."

Harry was just passing the Christmas pudding to Ron for the third time when a flash of metal at the staff table caught his eye. Forgetting the pudding, he watched, riveted, as Takushiki set a tin on the table, opened it with a napkin wrapped around her hand, and took out a large brown chunk before passing it along the table. Aha, he thought triumphantly, so that's what happened to Ron's fudge!

They spent most of the afternoon building snow sculptures on the front lawn – robed figures stirring cauldrons, six-foot tall rabbits, a spiky-backed dragon and even an arched bridge across the moat, and sledding down the hill by Hufflepuff tower on meal trays filched from the infirmary. Cho joined them for a while, her musical laugh ringing out as she whizzed past Harry and tumbled into the snowdrifts by the moat. Then she returned to the front stairs to practice on her new skateboard from Harry.

As teatime approached, they walked over to Hagrid's with a Honeydukes honey cake and a little square wrapped package. "This one's for Rodney," said Hermione when she handed it to him. "It's a book about humans. Isn't he spending Christmas with you?"

"He's with his father now," explained Hagrid. "Firenze's back in th' Forest for the Solstice. 'S a shame we don't see more of him. An' speakin' of people we don't see much of, where are those brothers of yours, Ron? You were going to bring them along today."

Ron chuckled as he sliced the cake. "They had detention for sneaking out after hours and putting a dungbomb down Filch's shirt when he caught them."

Hagrid leaned back and laughed, both at the news and at Hermione's look of shock. "What's the punishment this time?"

Ron grinned and shook his head. "The worst I've ever heard of. Let's see – they have to scrub and wax all the floors in the castle, then wash all the windows, and they can't go to Hogsmeade until it's done. After that they're supposed to help you with the grounds. That's on top of buying Filch a new shirt and doing his washing for a month."

"Ar, he's a sharp one, Professor Snape," Hagrid pronounced. "They'll be so busy they won't have time fer mischief. An' it'll give Filch time fer his trips ter th'Ministry."

"Filch has been going to the Ministry?" asked Hermione.

Hagrid slurped his tea gloomily. "Dumbledore used to send me on all his errands. Gave me the run o' London, even before I was 'lowed ter do magic. Used ter see yer dad all the time, Ron. Now if there's anything interestin' ter be done, Filch gets ter go."

Supper was late, and light, at least for Harry and Hermione. They watched wonderingly as Ron tucked away trays of sandwiches and bowl after bowl of soup. Leaving the hall, they found Professor Takushiki waiting for them, a bag in her hand.

"Here's your tin back, Ron – and thank you for the fudge, it's irresistible." She turned to Harry. "Thank you too, Harry, for the maintenance kit. It'll be great to work on my broomstick again without worrying about touching metal. And Hermione, I love the book of Shakespeare sonnets." She paused, and drew something out of her robe pocket. "Have any of you an idea who might have given me this? The card was, well, a bit odd, and it wasn't signed."

Harry took it from her and turned it over; it was an audiotape. "Greatest Love Songs: Frank Sinatra," he read.

"Who's that?" asked Ron.

"Some old singer from America, he was always going 'do-be-do'. The Muggle lady I used to cat sit for liked him," answered Harry.

"Well, is there anyone like her around here?" asked Hermione.

"Old, boring and a Muggle?" He chuckled. "It has to be Filch." As soon as the name left his lips, his stomach flip-flopped.

Across from him Ron turned a deep, angry red. "I'll get those two, if it's the last thing I do!" He sped off toward Gryffindor, with Hermione following.

"What was that all about?" Takushiki asked. She took the tape back rather gingerly and dropped it into her pocket. Harry shrugged, feeling guilty for keeping a secret, but far too embarrassed to explain.

"Harry, you're blushing."

Now he was trapped. His cheeks and forehead, and even his eyes, were burning. The pink note felt like a brick in his pocket. He couldn't look at her, much less speak. Takushiki took his arm and started to walk him along the hall. "You know something, Harry," she said gently. "Did you have anything to do with this gift?" He shook his head quickly. "But you know who does." Mortified, he nodded. "Is there a prank involved?" Nearly weeping from embarrassment, Harry nodded again. "The Weasley twins I suppose," she groaned. "Look, the card said something about notes… Did they send Filch notes on pink paper?"

One more nod, and he found his voice. "I have to go, miss, good night," he croaked.

Suddenly her hand tightened on his arm. "Oh! Wait! What did those notes say? Harry?"

Panic overwhelmed him. He pulled away blindly and sped down the hall, feeling lower than the snake on the Slytherins' doorstep.

Harry's mood did not lift as the holidays ended and the rest of the school returned. Somehow he was thinking more and more about Dumbledore and how much he missed him. The pain of that loss - and of his failure to help - was getting worse, not better as he had always thought it would. Quite often at night he found himself dreaming of the creature in Godric's Hollow. He would be lying under his blankets alone in the dormitory, awake but unable to move. Then the thing would come in and scuttle from bed to bed, clawing at the empty ones as it desperately tried to find a body to clasp. Finally it would reach Harry's bedside – but fortunately he had always been able to wake up before its awful claws descended on him. The dream, or something like it, seemed to haunt him during waking hours as well; any painful or unpleasant thoughts settled into him like cold, while the cheerful ones evaporated like a wisp of white fog whenever he tried to hold on to them. He told no one of the dream, not wanting to worry them, and knowing they could do nothing about it. Still, it gnawed at him and robbed him of sleep.

To make matters worse, his wand was still playing up. At first he had thought that it had settled down but now he was finding it increasingly unreliable. It was as if the power was slowly seeping out of the damaged end of the phoenix feather within. But this is _my_ wand, he told himself. It picked me; I can't pick another.

The Christmas feast faded into a dull grey January. The other students returned, filling the hallways with movement and noise. To Harry it all seemed too bright, too busy. Then classes started, jerking him from torpor to confusion. He dragged himself to the lessons and forced himself to do homework. Even Defense, his favorite, left him cold. Flitwick's exuberant demonstrations in Charms, formerly so entertaining, seemed overblown and irrelevant. Transfiguration seemed pointless. The more things changed, he thought cynically, the more they stayed the same. Potions was a nightmare. Snape had started a unit on preparation of alchemical ingredients, a completely new subject that refused to make sense to him. He could not for the life of him keep the grams, drams and drachms straight and as a result all his equations for yield and purity remained stubbornly unbalanced. Meanwhile even Crabbe, under Hermione's tutelage, was confidently converting millimoles into parts per million.

It didn't help that Gryffindor were playing Hufflepuff on the first Saturday of the Spring term. As he sat on his broomstick waiting for Madam Hooch to blow her whistle, Harry could not help thinking about what had happened during the same match the year before. He had been overcome by the effect of the watching dementors who had been guarding the school, and had fallen fifty feet to the ground. His grip on the Firebolt tightened when he remembered his faithful Nimbus, which had been shattered when it flew into the Whomping Willow. How he had missed that broom. And he missed... He pushed the thought away.

Luckily for Gryffindor, it became obvious when the match started that Hufflepuff had not managed to train much since the start of term. Harry found himself staring at the goalposts, or the other players, forgetting the Snitch. From time to time he would snap back to attentiveness, angry at himself, only to lose concentration a few minutes later. It was only when George shouted to him "Behind you, Harry – wake up!" that he managed to catch the Snitch and end the game. He ducked away from the congratulations of his team mates when he landed and headed for the showers. Somehow just chatting to people, just being with people, was becoming impossible.

"Well done, that should have been the result last year," the Hufflepuff seeker, Cedric Diggory, told Harry as he walked back to the castle. Harry managed awkwardly to thank him but didn't feel any happier for it. He knew that he had played abominably and that only dumb luck had given them the victory. He had been very aware of Hecate sitting in the stands, though he had tried not to look at her. What an idiot he had been. He was still waking up in the middle of the night and groaning into his pillow as he remembered how he had stood there, dumbly, as she realised not only that Fred and George had been using her to play their stupid tricks on Filch but that he, Harry, had known all along. She would have been the ideal person to ask about his missing Dumbledore and all his other worries, he was sure. But just then he was dreading seeing her in the next Defense class, let alone talking to her.

As he dried off after his shower he could hear Ron shouting happily over the water, "Yes, I have been training over the holidays, glad it showed. Weighted gloves, you know. You put them on and swing your arms around. But you have to be careful, they can give someone a nasty knock."

Next to him, Fred scowled and fingered his jaw as if it hurt. Whatever the story is, thought Harry, I don't want to hear it. I just want to sleep.

He was just putting his shoes under the bed when Ron bounced triumphantly into the dormitory to grab a sweater and pocket money. "We're going into Hogsmeade to celebrate – come on!" he called.

Harry waved him away. Even that took an effort. "Thanks, you go on without me this time. I think I need a nap instead."

Ron bent over him. "Are you all right? You're not looking very well."

"Just tired." He could see that Ron did not believe the excuse and resented the concern in his voice. Why couldn't people leave him alone?

"Harry, your game was really off today. It wasn't like you. Didn't you hear Alicia yelling at you?"

"Well, it _was_ me, all right? And no, I didn't hear her," said Harry irritably. I was even worse than I thought, he told himself. I wasn't watching, I wasn't listening...

"Were you in a trance or something? You were spacing out so much, she was about to put Neville in."

Harry glared at him. "Would you mind criticizing me some other time?" he snapped. "I said I was tired. And everyone's probably waiting for you downstairs." He flopped back on his bed and let the curtains drop. Ron jerked them aside and stood over him.

"What's got into you?" demanded Ron. "This isn't like you either!"

"Leave me alone!" Harry flung himself onto his belly, away from his friend.

The curtains dropped. "Have it your own way, then." Harry heard Ron's angry footsteps going out of the room and down the stairs. In the empty silence he began quietly to cry.

The next morning at breakfast Cho sped over to his table. "Goodness, what a long face today!" Harry nodded. He didn't feel like replying. Ron was sitting a few places away from him, pointedly discussing Quidditch with Hermione. Cho peered at him. "I looked for you at dinner last night, but you weren't there. You really are upset, aren't you?" Miserable, thought Harry. Nothing's going right for me.

Cho was saying something again. "It's sunny for a change. Let's go for a walk around the castle and just talk." Harry pushed away from his half-eaten breakfast and nodded. Surely Cho would understand, and if not, they would work it out together.

"Great. I wasn't hungry anyway," he said. As he got up to go, Hermione rose too and came up to him." Are you all right, Harry? Ron was saying last night, I mean, if you could just wait until I take a book over to Vince, we could talk..." But Harry found himself pushing past her without a word and following Cho out of the Great Hall. They ambled out the main door and set out over the packed snow of the lawn, threading between the statues. Harry reached over and took her hand shyly. It was warm and soft. She squeezed his hand and leaned slightly into his shoulder. At last he felt the sadness beginning to lift. Now, how to begin? He took a deep breath.

"What I was hoping," began Cho eagerly, "was that you could tell me what kind of strategies Hufflepuff and Slytherin have been using this season. I've watched them from the ground, but it's different from the air. You've played against them both, what do you think?"

Harry's heart sank. "I really don't want to talk about it," he said lamely. "Somehow Quidditch doesn't seem to matter. Nothing does. Look, Cho – "

"I know," she reassured him. "It's the end of the season for Gryffindor, and you've won all your games. But we have the last two matches, and they're key for Ravenclaw to get into second place. Come on, Harry, what can you tell me?"

He pulled himself together. "I'd tell you if I could, but I couldn't really concentrate out there yesterday. For me everything was as foggy as when we played your team. You could ask Lee Jordan, I guess. And Slytherin's a completely different team with Zabini as Seeker."

"Are you still upset about the Hufflepuff game? I could see it wasn't going well for you."

"No, that's not really it," replied Harry. He drew a deep breath. "I've been feeling awful lately, and nothing seems to help. I let Dumbledore down last Autumn, and now I'm no use to the Quidditch team either. It was just dumb luck that I caught the Snitch."

Cho squeezed his hand again. "Everyone has a bad day now and then, even the great players. I bet this is the first time your game's ever been in a slump. You just have to play through it until it's over. If you let it grind you down, it will – so just don't let it. The more you fly, the faster it'll pass." They walked on in silence for a few minutes. "It doesn't have to be Quidditch drills either. You need to forget your troubles and do some flying for fun. Come on, let's go up and look for the pig on the new bit of parapet."

"Flying hasn't helped so far," Harry protested. "The problem isn't Quidditch, it's Dumbledore."

"I know you miss him," insisted Cho, "but you can't just sink into a funk over it. McGonagall misses him too. You can tell by the way she brings up his name in Transfiguration. Does she do that in your lessons too?" Harry nodded, remembering how comforting it had been to hear someone else say the name. "Well, she doesn't let it get her down – she doesn't even let Snape get to her. She stays busy, and that's what you need to do too."

Harry nodded again to let her know he was listening. He could not agree. I don't want to get over it, he thought, I want to do something about it, but there's nothing I can do. I couldn't help him then, I can't now… I'm no good to anyone. Oh, what's the point?

Cho was still talking. "It works, really, Harry, it's what everyone in my family always does with problems. You throw yourself into your work, or your sport, with all your heart. I know Dumbledore was really special to you. My dad would say he was your sensei. You want to honor him, don't you? Does it honor him to just sit around moping? You have to train harder in his memory and carry forward his art. That's how you prove yourself worthy of his teaching."

Another wave of hopelessness swept over Harry. He kept plodding, trying not to let her see his despair. I do desperately want to honor Dumbledore, he thought, but how can I do what she says when it's taking everything I've got just to hang on? "Can we talk about something else?" he asked finally.

Cho grimaced. "OK. I understand, really. I won't ask you again." They walked on, eventually coming around the corner of a greenhouse onto a paved area behind it. Harry had taken several steps onto it before he realized it had been cleared of snow. A jolt of alarm shot through him. Voldemort! he thought, then wearily, get a grip on yourself, why would Voldemort want to shovel snow? Cho looked at him strangely. "What happened? You look like something just bit you." She slipped a tape player out of her shoulder bag and set it up on one of the snow piles. Dance music began to play. "Never mind flying," she said, slipping her hand into his. "Let's try a little dancing instead."

Obediently Harry put his arms around her and started to follow her steps. You've been longing to do this, he told himself, now enjoy it. Throw yourself into it with all your heart. She's trying to cheer you up. The least you can do is go along with it. He smiled at her, feeling empty, and hugged her close, feeling alone, as if he were falling away from everything that had ever been dear to him. On and on the tape played. When it finally clicked to a stop Cho gave him her most winning smile. "Oh, Harry," she murmured, then rose on tiptoe and kissed him full on the lips.

Harry froze. His head felt full of fog. He could hardly believe what was happening and he had no idea what to do. Suddenly Cho broke off the kiss and stepped back.

"What's the matter with you anyway?" she demanded, a sob catching her voice. She jammed the tape player angrily into her bag. "Nothing seems to get through to you. If you want to sit around feeling sorry for yourself then go ahead – I'm going flying!" She took off toward the castle at a run.

Now I've done it, thought Harry, watching her go. He knew he had upset her and at the same time, that there was nothing else he could have done. Why couldn't you just be there for me? he asked silently. Without trying to distract me, or talk me out of my feelings? She was still visible, a dark point on the white hill, trudging upward with her head bowed. He started running after her and caught up just as they reached the rose garden.

"Cho, wait, please," he called. "Don't be mad at me. I didn't mean to hurt your feelings. I still like you but..." She looked back at him, angry and tearful, waiting. "What I mean to say, is that I just need to be alone for a while." An idea came to him, bringing a trickle of relief. "Look, you know how badly I played yesterday. The only reason Alicia kept me in was the Firebolt; Neville's never flown it. I want you to take it – our matches are over and it'll give you a speed advantage in yours."

"Oh, Harry – I couldn't do that. Neville should be using it."

Harry shrugged. "Then take turns with him. There's no reason you can't both use it."

"Really?" she breathed. "You'd lend me the Firebolt?"

Harry nodded. "Sure. I'll bring it over at dinner and you two can figure it out." It really didn't matter anyway, he thought. "I just don't feel like flying any more."


	27. Holidays, part 2

Sprawled on his bed with the curtains drawn, Harry wondered what had happened to all of his friends. Maybe they're not my friends any more, he thought. I wouldn't blame them. He thought of the picture album Hagrid had given him, filled with photographs of happy, waving people. My parents are dead. I'll never see them. Dumbledore would have known what to say, but he's gone too. Why didn't I ask him all those things I was going to? Now I'll never have a chance, unless Hecate... Hecate. Alone in the dark he blushed again, so hard that his eyes squeezed shut and his head buzzed. How can I even look her in the face again, much less talk with her? Ron? He's still mad at me about the match and our argument. Hermione can't think of anything but Crabbe. I just told Cho I need to be alone, and she doesn't understand anyway. Sirius is halfway around the world. Maybe I should go see Hagrid. No, he's suffering worse than I am. I can't burden him with my problems. No help there.

He pulled the blankets over his head and lay very still. It was as if he were in a long grey tunnel that would never come to an end and from which he would never find a way out.

At the next Quidditch practice, and the next, Harry was not there. Neville and Cho were sharing the Firebolt. Harry did not care; it was as if the broomstick had never been his. He stopped taking notes in class, and turning in homework. He could not face Hecate, and skived off a week of Defense against the Dark Arts. What did it matter anyway? He was dimly aware of a buzz of concern around him, but could not respond. Ron and Hermione dragged him to see McGonagall; half an hour after their meeting, he could not remember a word of it. Dumbledore was gone, Quidditch was gone, his future at Hogwarts was probably gone. To hell with all of it, he thought.

The next Monday evening he trudged up to bed right after dinner and found Ron, George and Fred waiting for him. "You have to stop acting like this!" Ron shouted at him. Harry pushed past him and ran straight into the twins. They grabbed his arms and sat him on the bed. "I talked to Hecate," explained Ron. "You ought to talk to her too, Harry."

Harry struggled, but it was useless. "No," he moaned. He felt the blood rising up into his cheeks, pushing tears out of his eyes.

"Let go, Fred," said George, loosening his grip on Harry's arm, "he's crying."

Fred hung on. "Come on Harry, buck up mate!"

Suddenly rage boiled up inside Harry. "You guys have some nerve!" he shouted at the twins. "How can I talk to her, after what you did? You make me sick!" He pulled away but they both grabbed him again.

"For crying out loud, Harry," exclaimed Fred. "We've already got Percy junior here telling us how to behave. It's not as if we really did anything wrong. It was only Filch, for goodness sake. Hecate's cool – she hasn't even said anything to us. So what are you going on about?"

Harry glared at him.

"Mmm," said George, "Now I think of it – she can't have told old Snape-o either, can she? That's as good as saying 'carry on'. I knew she liked me the first time I saw her."

"Wait a minute," Ron warned. "I thought you two had promised not to send any more of those notes. Are you going to keep your word?"

The twins dropped Harry's arms, and he slumped over, elbows on his knees. It was a relief to know that he didn't have to be embarrassed any more. Still, he dreaded talking with Hecate – with anyone. I don't want to do it, he thought. Too much effort. Too much pain. How can I get out of it? He managed a crooked smile. "Thanks, you guys. I'm starting to feel better already," he lied. "It's about time I snapped out of this. I'll be OK in the morning, really. I just need a good night's sleep."

The next morning Harry forced himself to eat breakfast and to act cheerful. It helped – at least until Transfiguration. They were studying density transformations by turning feathers into forks, and his annoyance mounted as the damaged wand produced ferns, fish and flowers but no fork. After his second feather burst into flame, he gave up and borrowed Ron's wand, but using it took such effort that by lunch he was exhausted. There was still Potions to go. He dragged himself into the laboratory and noticed Malfoy up at the front, officiously measuring a clear liquid into glass vials. It must be the purified flobberworm slime they had prepared during the last two labs, he thought, now what are we using it for? While Snape warned them strictly against allowing the slime to cool, he looked over the laboratory procedure, seeing "Preventive for _Rictusempra_ Charm" followed by a set of instructions which made no sense. Absently he accepted a vial from Malfoy and tucked it into his shirt pocket before turning the page. He put the cauldron on to boil and began to weigh and grind the ingredients – the dry ones in the mortar, the wet ones through a sieve.

"Potter." Hearing Snape's voice, Harry jumped, making the brass scale pan swing crazily. "Exactly where in the procedure does it say to _grind_ the mountain yam?" He followed Snape's long ink-stained finger to the page. _Slice 1 cm thick_ , it read.

"Potter has ground his mountain yam," announced Snape. "Who can tell me why it is a very poor idea to grind mountain yam?"

Two or three people put up hands. Snape pointed. "Because, ahh, the sticky, ah, sap, coagulates when it is, ah, released all at once."

"Let us see, Potter, if Zabini is correct." He handed Harry the beaker of white puree. "Pour it out in the sink." He seized Harry's wrist and jerked it up. His hot, dry hands felt like the cover of the old spellbook. "Higher, so we can all see."

There went twenty minutes wasted, Harry thought. Not that it mattered. He held the beaker at shoulder height and began to pour. Nothing happened. Finally, when it was nearly upside down, the contents pulled loose in a clump with a horrible sucking noise and splattered into the sink, trailing long sticky strings back to the beaker. Harry's stomach churned.

"A point from Gryffindor; a point to Slytherin," drawled Snape. "And speaking of slime, Potter, are you keeping your flobberworm slime warm, or did you forget that too?"

Harry reached into his pocket and drew out the vial.

"That's the empty vial. Where is the vial of slime?"

He felt his pocket again, not understanding. Surely Draco had only given him one vial? Half the class was staring at him. The other half was staring across the room, where Goyle and Draco were nearly falling down laughing. Next to Harry, Snape grinned in anticipation and drew in a long breath.

Suddenly Harry's feet were running. He sprinted through the doorway, down the damp dungeon passageway and up the stone stairs. In the echoing first floor corridor he bumped into someone and kept running, hearing Takushiki call "Harry!" behind him. Tears streamed from his eyes. He had to get away, away. Blindly he fled across the snowy lawn, behind the greenhouses, and along the lakeshore past the point where he had formed the stag Patronus the summer before. No Patronus can help me now, he thought cynically. He plunged into the woods, ignoring the thorns that tore at his robe and the sticks cracking under his feet, filled with an urgency he could not understand. Finally he tripped on a tree root and fell headlong onto wet, snowy leaves.

I'm lost in the Forbidden Forest, he thought. So what. I don't have my cloak. I've skinned my elbow. So what. Afternoon sunlight filtered through the branches above him and glinted off the droplets hanging from the black twigs. The wood was silent except for his breathing, and the dripping sound of melting snow. He picked a direction at random and started to walk. The spiders will be out today. So what. I could die out here. So what. Drops are falling all over the forest, thought Harry, all around me they are falling, falling. Like the drops of water over the Hogsmeade waterfall. What's one more drop, one more life ended? He heard a noise off to his left and caught a flash of silver moving in the shadows. His thoughts darted to his Patronus, the stag; to the dementors; to Godric's Hollow, and finally settled on his parents. If I died, I'd be with them. Would it be such a bad thing? I'm so tired. He sank down with his back against a tree, resting his face and arms on his knees, and waited for the spiders. On the top of his head, the winter sun warmed his hair. Deep inside his belly, the black emptiness began to expand, drawing him inward, filling him with silence. Gently, without fear, he began to fall into it.

There was a rustling sound among the trees. Finally, thought Harry calmly. Almost there. Not long now. This won't be so bad after all.

"Hello, human," said a small voice that Harry remembered from somewhere. "Mars is bright tonight."

Slowly, laboriously, Harry swam up from the void. He looked up, blinking, and realized that Rodney was standing in front of him. There was a red woolly cap on his curly head and a long scarf wrapped around his neck. "I know you – you're Hagrid's friend. Harry Potter."

"Hello Rodney," said Harry, laboring over the words.

"See my scarf? Hagrid made it for me," answered Rodney, flinging the ends back over his shoulders. "Why are you in the forest? Don't you know it's dangerous for your sort of creature?"

"I don't care," said Harry dully. "What do you mean about Mars? It isn't even night time."

Rodney shrugged. "It's what the grown ups say. I'm practising. Are you lost?"

"Not exactly. I'm just here."

Rodney regarded him quizzically. "Aren't you cold?"

Now that Rodney had mentioned it, he did feel cold. He nodded.

"You have an owie on your elbow, Harry Potter. Do you want a sticking plaster? Hagrid's got some." He took hold of Harry's hand and pulled, digging his hoofs into the mould. Harry unfolded himself and stood up unsteadily. "Come on, let's go."

"Are you taking me back to Hagrid's?" Harry asked him.

"The stars do not forbid it," Rodney told him solemnly. Keeping hold of Harry's hand he began to pull him through the trees. Soon they were back on the earth path and then at the edge of the trees.

"Thanks, you can go home now if you want," Harry told him.

"I have to see you safe first, Harry Potter," said Rodney. "Like Firenze did." He trotted by Harry's side back to the hut.

Hagrid was out, but Harry let himself in and collapsed into Hagrid's stained and threadbare armchair. The hut was cold and dim, with only a bit of light filtering in through the curtains and around the door. I'm alone, all alone, thought Harry again.

Then something caught his eye. No. I'm not alone.

In the dark corner, by the coat stand, a brilliant red-gold glow began to unfurl. It was Fawkes. The reminder of Dumbledore was too much for Harry. Awful grief surged up inside him like a tide, overwhelming him. He began to weep uncontrollably. Rigid, breathless, he clutched the arms of the chair. Great sobs burst out of him and tore at his throat. Through the tears he heard a rush of wings and felt Fawkes land on his knee. The bird hopped into his lap and snuggled against him. Harry hugged him to his chest and wept harder, as though he could never weep enough. Gradually he realized that Fawkes was weeping also. Poor Fawkes, he thought, you too? He stroked the soft neck and crisp wing feathers. "It's OK, Fawkes," he murmured. "We all miss him. We'll all remember him." As Harry tried to comfort the bird, the hopelessness began to lift from him. "We'll manage somehow. He'll always be with us in our hearts." He took a deep breath, and then another, and settled back in the chair, rocking the bird gently.

Suddenly the door of the cabin burst open, and bright light streamed in around Hagrid's silhouette. Behind him two other forms rushed up.

"Harry!" cried Ron and Hermione together. They rushed into the room, muddy and out of breath. "You're all right!" gasped Ron. "Thank goodness!"

Hermione rushed up and hugged him. "We were so worried! Oh, Harry, you're crying. What's the matter?"

"I felt awful, but I'm better now. Fawkes is still upset, though."

"Fawkes?" In a moment, Hermione took in the situation. "Harry, quick – where's the vial?" At first he did not remember what she was talking about, but Fawkes poked his head gently into his shirt pocket and pulled it out. Harry stroked his head as the bright tears rolled down his beak into the tiny glass jar. When it was full, Fawkes stopped weeping. He reached out his beak and gently nibbled at Harry's hair. Then he hopped into the air and flew over to Hagrid, settling in his arms. He laid his long wet face against Hagrid's broad cheek.

"Ar, Fawkes, there's a good bird," said Hagrid gruffly, but as Fawkes hopped down to the floor he seemed to stand straighter. In the late afternoon light the phoenix shone redder and brighter than they had ever seen him. With slow courtly steps he paraded through the open door and into the garden. They all followed him. For a long moment he stood watching them with unfathomable black eyes, then stretched his head across his back and pulled out four bright tail feathers. With a deep bow he placed a slender red one, narrow as a string, in front of each of the three friends, and a broad, splendid golden quill at Hagrid's feet. He bowed to Rodney, and one last time to all of them together, then spread his brilliant wings and flew away into the setting sun until he disappeared in its radiance.

"Goodbye, Fawkes!" called Harry. "Thank you!"

Hagrid began to sniffle. "Safe journey to yeh, birdie," he murmured. Rodney took his hand and Hermione patted him on the back as they returned to the hut.

Harry had just finished his story, and Rodney had just finished his cinnamon toast, when the clatter of hooves sounded in the garden, followed by a single knock.

"Here's another visitor," said Hagrid, opening the door. "Didn't think I'd ever see you out o' the forest."

Harry looked up. Standing outside in the early evening twilight was Firenze, the centaur he had met three years before. His sapphire blue eyes glittered as they swept over Hagrid, Rodney and then Harry.

"I came for him," he said, nodding at the little centaur. "These are dark times. He should not be out of the forest any more than a human should be in it."

"He's nay trouble but there yeh go," answered Hagrid, lifting Rodney up and handing him over to Firenze. "What d'yer mean, dark times? There's no more unicorns dead are there?"

"No, the evil thing has found something else to feed on. It has left us. It is no longer our concern."

"Where is he then, do you know?" asked Harry, unable to stop himself. "You helped me before once and you see, I'm not dead yet."

Firenze hesitated. Under his arm, Rodney kicked his hooves. "Tell the humans what the stars said about the sickle," he piped.

"You were forbidden to tell anyone about that. What good does it do humans to warn them of what may never happen?" Firenze told him sternly.

"I haven't told them, I asked you to," shot back Rodney. "Go on!"

Harry felt a cold chill down his spine. Firenze's fellow Centaurs had once told him that he should not defy the stars to help Harry. He clutched the vial of phoenix tears tighter.

"We're no' askin' you ter do anythin', jest tell us what yer know and trot back home," Hagrid put in. "Harry's got friends ter help him if he needs them."

"Yes," added Hermione, "and astrology is very imprecise anyway, Harry, so it may not mean anything."

"But we'd like to know anyway," said Ron hastily as Firenze began to paw the ground with one hoof and look rather offended.

"The stars' message is this," he said at last. "The evil one will attack when the Twins first grasp the Sickle. If you cannot read this sign, then time will read it for you if and when it occurs."

"Yer sayin' that You-Know-Who is coming after Harry again?" asked Hagrid.

Firenze turned to go. "The stars foretell, they do not explain," he said over one shoulder. "But if the sign concerns the evil one, then it concerns Harry Potter. Their destinies are united. Goodbye, Hagrid. Goodbye, Harry Potter." Then he was gone, with Rodney waving plaintively to them as they galloped towards the forest.

Harry looked down at the phoenix feather that Fawkes had left him. Help me now, he told it silently.

"Twins," said Hagrid, closing the door. "I remember some o' this from Astronomy. Would they be that pair o' lads up in the sky, Hermione?" He pointed vaguely up at the ceiling of the hut. "An' the sickle. D'yer think he means the Plough?"

"What's a sickle anyway?" asked Ron. "Besides the coin, I mean."

Hagrid stumped over to a corner of the hut. "One o' these," he said, holding up an enormous crescent-shaped, shining blade on a wooden handle. "Yeh use it fer cuttin' things like grass an' bracken."

"Like Death's Scythe," said Ron.

"Thanks, Ron," said Harry. "That cheers me up no end." But he gave him a friendly punch on the arm.

Hermione frowned. "I don't see how it could mean the constellations. Gemini – the Twins – won't go anywhere near the Plough and a plough's not a sickle anyway. It must mean another pair of twins."

"Fred and George?" said Ron. "No, even they wouldn't go after Filch with one of those."

"It's me who's going to be attacked, remember?" said Harry. But strangely, with the vial of phoenix tears in his pocket and his friends around him, he was beginning to feel more excited and curious than scared. Dumbledore had spoken to him, in a way. Surely he could now face whatever Voldemort was planning?

"I'll ponder it meself," Hagrid told them. "Never yeh mind yerselves, it probably means nothin'. Now, it's black outside, off ter the castle with yeh."

Hermione ran her fingers along Fawkes's feather as they walked back. "These small ones will go in a wand, like yours, Harry, but I don't know about that great big tail feather that Hagrid was given. I'll read up on phoenix feather magic in the library. And look at what sickles might mean."

"If you go past the Infirmary, give the phoenix tears to Madam Pomfrey," Harry told her, handing them over. Hermione nodded and walked off.

"Come and do a bit of Quidditch practice before dinner, then?" asked Ron hopefully.

Harry shook his head. "I have to go and apologise to Snape for running out of Potions like that. Whatever punishment he's got lined up, I'd better get it over with."


	28. Holidays, part 3

The first thing Harry noticed upon arriving at the Headmaster's office was the sign on the door: Do Not Enter. The shade was drawn. He put his ear to the door, hearing the sounds of a quill scratching away and Snape muttering. He worked up his courage to knock, and a moment later the door opened.

"Potter." The Headmaster's voice was expressionless. He looked haggard, and in the yellow light of the candle brackets the lines on his face looked deeply carved. Strands of greasy hair fell over his forehead, where Harry could see crumbs of black fluff still clinging. He glanced past Snape into the office, seeing the Sorting Hat on the corner of Snape's desk, and several owls waiting on the windowsill. Snape did not invite him in.

"Sir, I came to apologize for what happened in Potions today." The Headmaster's hooded eyes continued to stare at him, but his eyebrows moved up imperceptibly. Harry continued. "I behaved badly – I shouldn't have run out. I'm sincerely sorry for it and I give you my word it won't happen again."

Snape pressed his lips together and lifted his head. Here it comes, thought Harry, seeing Snape's eyes narrow. All the accusations about arrogance, and rule-breaking, and fame I don't deserve, and how lucky I am. All the slurs on my father.

"Your apology is accepted. Ten points from Gryffindor. You will make up the missing work at my convenience. Now go away." Snape retreated into his office, leaving Harry dumbstruck in the hallway. What had happened to the Headmaster? When had he ever been too busy, or tired, to berate a Gryffindor student? Harry looked down as the door swung closed. Just before it slammed in his face he saw – or thought he saw – a piece of Hecate's bamboo patterned note paper in the wastebasket next to the door.

A couple of weeks later they all returned to Hagrid's hut for a late breakfast. The large tail feather had been pinned high on the wall above the door.

"Like a horseshoe, fer a lucky charm," Hagrid told them. "It'll keep evil from enterin' over the step an' I can watch it when I'm lyin' in bed an' can't sleep. Yer ter tell me if you find it does somethin' else from yer books, Hermione."

Hagrid passed around the plates as Harry told him how Snape had accepted his apology.

"Not even detention?" said Hagrid. "He's mellowin'."

"He's got a long detention planned for Harry," said Ron darkly.

"I don't care, I'm ready," Harry replied.

"He's got other things ter worry about," went on Hagrid. "'Nother teachers' meetin' yesterday evenin'. Lucius Malfoy was lurkin' round. Again. Hasn't that man got a home ter go to?"

"What did he want?" asked Harry.

"I wasn't in the meetin', jus' wanted ter tell Perfessor Snape somethin'."

"About what Firenze told us?" put in Hermione.

"Nothin' ter bother yeh," Hagrid told her quickly. "Erm, shall I tell yer what Lucius had ter say? Save yer wheedlin' it out o' me like yeh usually do."

Harry, Ron and Hermione all nodded. Hagrid lowered his voice even though there was no one else there but Fang.

"I didn' hear it all, rightly, but here goes," he whispered.

"Lucius sez: 'So, I shall see yer at the Institute on the 25th, Severus. I am so lookin' forward to yer lecture. What's it on again?'

Perfessor Snape sez, "Usin' Dark Arts knowledge for Good."

"What?" said Harry. Beside him, Ron snorted out a mouthful of tea.

"Ooh, I'd like to hear that!" said Hermione enthusiastically. "If Snape wasn't giving it, of course," she added.

"Don' ask me what it means," went on Hagrid. "And don' ask Lucius either cos he goes 'Oh, a subject I know nuthin' about, Severus. Where do yer pick these things up? Sign of a misspent youth, I suppose. Still, we were all young once. Don't imagine any of us would want people knowin' the things we got up to before we were respectable, eh?' Then he gives the perfessor a pat on the back.

"'Indeed,' sez Snape an' he's lookin' pretty fierce, more than usual, yeh see."

"Then Lucius goes, 'Remind me ter introduce yeh around, yeh know the President o' th'Institute's retirin' in a couple o' years? And yeh can tell me how yer likin' yer new potions equipment, too.'"

"New stuff? I haven't seen it in lessons," said Hermione.

"It's all in Perfessor Snape's private office," said Hagrid. "Great big cauldrons an' silver vials an' a pile o' stuff I didn't recognize. Lucius sent it all down from London. I know because Filch was tryin' ter chivvy me inter helpin' him unload it. I told him 'Not on yer nellie!' an' Snape wouldn't let him make Fred an' George do it, o'course, so Filch had ter unpack it all himself. He's still moanin' about his back."

"Anyway. Then Perfessor Snape sees me standin' there.

"'What is it now, Hagrid?' he asks me. 'Potter gone missin' again? Yeh can save yer breath; he'll be back as soon as he's hungry and wants some attention.'

"Lucius goes, "Not worried about the little lost lamb, then, Severus?' an' Snape tells him "I am a headmaster, Lucius, not a sheepdog. Potter is one pupil here and I shan't be worryin' myself about him in any particular way in the future."

"Lucius jest laughs and sez 'That's good to know, my friend.' Then he sees me glarin' at him and goes "I'm speakin' as the concerned parent of another child o' course. Glad we understand each other, Severus,' and then he strolls away."

"We'll have to take a look at that equipment," said Hermione eagerly as they walked back. "Did I tell you Crispin showed me one of the labs? Those pan balances we have in Potions are fossils. I mean, even my parents use the top-loading kind...which reminds me, I wonder if they sent that catalog I asked for..."

"Go on, we'll catch up with you later," said Ron, rolling his eyes. With a quick wave she set off at a run.

"Funny, the way she gets fixed on things," Harry remarked with a chuckle.

"Yeah, remember first year it was Quidditch strategy, and then that idiot Lockhart, and then Arithmancy? And then dressing up for that dance – with a bunch of Slytherins, no less. Now it's Potions. She's a strange one, no doubt about it."

"It's not just Hermione. All the girls are acting strange. Dean said Lavender and Parvati fell out last week. They both like the same guy."

"Right, it's Neville. He hasn't a clue what to do about it."

"I wouldn't either if I were him." Harry replied as they trotted up the pathway to the castle entrance. "Girls are weird."

"You can say that again." Ron sprinted off the path and vaulted over the low stone wall into the courtyard as Harry passed under the archway. Grinning, he brushed the snow off his hands. "I'm starved. D'you know what's for lunch today?"

Harry reached out to poke him. "Hey, Ron, look who's here."

Waiting at the other end of the courtyard at the bottom of the stairs was Percy Weasley.

"'Ullo, Perse, can't keep away from this place, can you?" called Ron, walking up to him.

Percy made a great show of brushing an imaginary speck of dust off his cloak before looking down his nose at his younger brother.

"Ronald," he said, extending a hand. "Don't you have exams you should be revising for?" He nodded to Harry.

"Here on your own then?" countered Ron, putting his own hands in his pockets. "Dad not with you? How's Penelope? Started dragging you round jewelry shops yet?"

Percy scowled and began to walk towards the school entrance. Harry saw that he was now wearing the same kind of pinstripes as Fudge. There was a large bundle of papers tucked under his arm together with a flat wooden case.

"I'm here on important ministry business and no, she is not," he hissed. "Where are your brothers? I need to have words with them. All this messing around with Bludgers and ink and dung bombs. The Headmaster was not very impressed, I can tell you." He ran a finger around his collar.

"Why bother?" retorted Ron. "Fred and George never took any notice of you when you were Head Boy."

"So you've been to see Snape?" asked Harry at the same moment.

"The Headmaster, young Potter," Percy told him. He patted the bundle of documents and the box under his arm.

"Are those the things that you gave Dumbledore before he died?" said Harry, realising where he had seen the box before. It held the items that Snape had given to Hecate so that she could speak to the dead.

Percy nodded. "At the ministry, Harry, we don't like to have confidential papers out of our sight. If anyone but Dumbledore had asked to borrow them, I wouldn't have allowed it. But now he's no longer with us, I've had to put my foot down."

"With Snape?" said Ron, raising his eyebrows.

"Yes, with Snape," retorted Percy. "As it happens he doesn't need them any more, so I didn't have to insist."

Ron snorted. "You're the tea boy at that office. They probably just about trust you to go out and buy a packet of biscuits."

"Dumbledore was reading those papers to find out something about Vol– , er, You-Know-Who and Squibs, I think," interrupted Harry. "Didn't Snape say anything to you about that?"

"Not your business," Percy shot back, "and if you must know, he had more to say about Fred and George. Honestly, anyone would think I was still a pupil here. Don't worry, though, Harry, the absolute inside information about He-who-must-not-be-named now is that he's gone back into hiding to recover from what happened when he attacked Dumbledore. He didn't come off very well, after all. No, if he were up to anything, the ministry would have heard. So you can sleep safe at night," – he glared at Ron – "whatever fanciful stories anyone's been telling you."

"Fred and George will be in the common room with Lee Jordan now," Ron told his brother with a meaningful stare. Percy stalked off, his cloak flapping.

"What did I do to end up with him as a brother?" he continued watching Percy go. "Still at least I know I'll look like Charlie when I'm grown up and not him. Poor old Dad, being stuck in an office with him all day. No wonder he sent him up here."

"Why do you think Snape didn't want those papers any more?" Harry asked him.

"He knows what's going on. You said it sounded as if he'd worked it out that night you heard him talking to the Mirror. And Hecate's talked to all those dead people. What else does he need them for?"

"But we still don't know what Voldemort's attacking Squibs for," Harry pointed out. "What do they have that he could want?"

After lunch, they walked down to the Quidditch field still puzzling it over. When they got there, Ron put on his weighted gloves while Harry threw a Quaffle to him again and again from every possible angle.

"We won't play in a match again this term," Harry said mildly after ten minutes or so.

"There's always next term," Ron told him, pushing his hair away from his sweaty face. "A professional is always training, you know."

Harry threw the ball back again. He was vaguely aware of the Ravenclaw team practicing at the other end of the pitch. He wondered who was getting all the cheers and applause he could hear but the last thing he was going to do was turn round and look directly. He was so busy not looking that he threw the Quaffle at Ron's feet.

"Give me some chance," Ron protested but before he could bend down, a large ginger paw reached over and patted the ball away as easily as if it had been made of wool.

"Crookshanks!" said Harry. "Get lost, you flea-ridden moggy! Give us that Quaffle!" for Crookshanks was rapidly knocking it up the field away from them.

"Come back, you furry git! Can't you get it back off him, Harry?"

"You're the one with leather gloves!"

Ron was putting his hand out very carefully – Crookshanks had a rough sense of humour and could probably cut open a chimera in the right mood – when they heard Hermione's voice calling "Good cat! Don't hit him, Ron!"

"I wasn't going to hit him!" protested Ron, adding " _hard_ ," under his breath as Hermione hurried forward and gathered Crookshanks up in her arms. The cat began to purr greedily and stared back at Harry and Ron with insolent yellow eyes. Harry grabbed his chance and pocketed the Quaffle.

"Your brother's here," Hermione told Ron.

"We already saw him; he came to get those papers and stuff from Snape. Looks like he's has worked out what You-Know-Who has been up to with the Squibs."

"That's what I came to talk to you about." said Hermione. "I found a book in the library just now, 'A Natural History of Magical Talents'. There's a chapter on Squibs. Anyway the point about them is, they do have magical abilities but they only develop very slowly. That's why they have to take extra courses like Filch. Sometimes the powers never develop at all, but the people just have more than their share of good luck."

"Not the ones that Voldemort got," Harry put in.

Hermione ignored him. "The only other mention of them is in regard to...are you going to be OK with this, Ron?"

"With what?"

Hermione grimaced. "Power transfer spells. The book talked about Emeric the Evil and his son Emeric the Impuissant – remember them from first year History?"

Harry and Ron looked at her blankly.

"All right, never mind. But I looked them up too, and it turns out that Emeric the Evil spent years trying to transfer other people's powers to his son. It caused disaster after disaster. It's what earned him his name. The book said the only time there wasn't a huge disaster was when they tried to transfer powers from another Squib."

"Well, what happened?" asked Ron.

"It went the wrong way. It killed Emeric the Impuissant, and the other Squib escaped, and that was the end of it."

"Lucky for him," Ron put in. "But I suppose that's the point, isn't it?"

"So Voldemort wants their powers?" asked Harry." But what good would they do him if they're so weak?"

"Lots of them together would add up."

"But wait, what about the earthquakes and so on that Hecate talked about?"

Hermione set down the wriggling cat. "That was when they tried to take powers from normal witches and wizards. You might get away with it if the power was just Squib sized. And some strange things did happen around the dead Squibs. There was the little boy who was so upset because his stuffed dog changed color – and the woman whose car fell to pieces around her."

Harry nodded eagerly. "The first one Hecate talked to – he said it started to rain from thin air. Something strange, or impossible, happens every time they kill someone. It's like what Professor Takushiki talked about in class. The structure of matter has changed. It has to be a power transfer spell. There's no other explanation." He broke off and looked at Ron.

Ron put his hands under his arms and hugged himself. "This is dodgy, dodgy stuff," he said miserably. "But it makes sense, taking just a tiny bit of power, again and again."

They considered this in silence. "So Voldemort is building up his powers," said Harry finally. "But how many would he have to kill before he's powerful enough?"

"Lots," Ron told him. "Unless he can get strong enough to steal the powers of someone with real magical ability."

"Like Dumbledore?" asked Hermione, "or..." But there was no need to finish that sentence; all three knew whose powers Voldemort would particularly like to have.


	29. Holidays, part 4

That evening the three friends gathered in a quiet corner of the library. "If Snape is in on this," Ron had said, "we'd better figure out what to do about it. And not just for your sake either, Harry." Harry knew he was referring to Hecate.

As Harry reviewed the evidence from the start, Hermione examined the windowsill block. After he finished, she ran her finger along the seam between the original and refrozen regions.

"He must have been awfully sure of himself, to try to take Dumbledore's power," she mused. "Everyone knew how powerful he was; he even challenged Voldemort to a duel."

"It fits, though," mused Harry. "Remember what Dumbledore told Malfoy – that he was taking the potion to boost his powers? Maybe his powers _had_ faded, enough that Voldemort thought he had a chance to grab them. Especially after the potion weakened him." He hesitated. "If it really did."

"It didn't." Hermione pushed a sheaf of papers across the table to him. "I'm sure it's the other potion. Remember, we only picked that first one because it was in English. But look here." She pointed to a line. "This thing that looks like a flat 'b', it's an Arabic 't'. And the feather is Egyptian, it's 'e'. Then this one is an 'n', but it's Greek, that's why it looks like a 'v'. Then we have another 't' in Hebrew."

"Is the next one an F?" asked Ron.

"It looks like one, but it's actually a Germanic rune for 'a'."

"T, e, n, t, a… Hang on - tentacula!" exclaimed Ron. "I bet it's going to say 'extract of venomous tentacula', right? That was one of the ingredients in Snape's potion supplies record, wasn't it?"

"It was," said Hermione, "but see here, every other word's written backwards, so it comes out 'tcartxe'. That's why it's taking so long to figure out."

"So where do we go from here?" asked Ron. "First of all, You-know-who is going to come after you, Harry, when he's strong enough, and Snape will be helping him. Second, Hecate's going to talk with Dumbledore, and as soon as she accuses Snape, she'll be toast. Third, if the potion wasn't Upas Milk, then Snape..."

"... was still working for Voldemort, but in some other way," put in Harry. "Maybe he and Lucius were talking about the Squibs. Or about getting rid of me. You know nothing would make Snape happier. Or Lucius. We'll beat them, though," he said triumphantly. "Send them both to rot in Azkaban." He grinned at Hermione's shock.

"Stop it, Harry!" exclaimed Hermione. "You're jumping to conclusions. We have to think this whole thing through again from the beginning. And I think we'd better talk to Professor McGonagall, or Takushiki, or someone, because of what we promised Hagrid."

Ron was making rapid notes on a scrap of paper. "OK, how about this: Hermione, you work on the potion recipe. I'll try to come up with some explanations that make sense without Upas Milk. And Harry, you talk with Hecate. See if she'll tell you anything more about the Squibs or about Dumbledore."

* * *

Harry went to find Professor Takushiki the next evening.

"Remember, Harry, don't put her in danger by telling her too much – just in case," Ron had told him as he left the common room. Harry had nodded but he knew that it was going to be difficult to stop himself pouring out all his fears and suspicions about everything that had happened over the past few months.

Hecate was sitting behind the desk in her office, munching a chocolate frog and chuckling over an old copy of "Witch Weekly".

"Look at this – 'Knit your own Gilderoy Lockhart Doll!' she read out from the cover. "Who'd want to do that?"

"Plenty of people, if they could stick pins in it!" laughed Harry as she motioned him to sit down and take a sweet.

"It's good to see you smiling again," she said. "What can I do for you? I didn't think I'd set you any homework this week."

Harry hesitated. "It's not about Defense; well, not about the Defense _class..."_

"Spit it out then!" she commanded with a grin.

"It's about that special project Dumbledore was working on just before he died. I, we, I mean Ron and Hermione and I, think that we know the answer. Voldemort is killing Squibs and transferring their powers to himself – and he tried to steal Dumbledore's powers too."

"And how did you come to that conclusion?" asked Hecate, suddenly grave.

"Something we heard Filch say a while ago." He blushed slightly to be saying that name to Hecate. "Something else that Ron's brother Percy told us when we saw him a couple of days ago; he works at the Ministry. Then there was what happened to the windowsill in Dumbledore's office; it had obviously been acted on by great forces. And you told us in class that magic transference always damages the surrounding matter. We just put it all together."

Hecate shrugged and smiled. "Dumbledore told me that you and your friends had a talent for investigation. What can I say but 'well done!'"

"He told you?" said Harry, suddenly cold. "When?"

"A week or so before he died as I remember."

Harry let out a silent sigh of relief. "So will you talk to him soon?"

"In a few days. Nicolas Flamel has told me that he's settling in well and is nearly ready."

Only a few days, thought Harry. What do I do?

"Has Voldemort killed many Squibs?" he said aloud.

Hecate's face was swept with sorrow. "Hundreds. Including children. It's like a war zone, his own little Holocaust. Believe me, Harry, we are doing everything we can to stop him."

"He'll come back here, you know. Maybe you can stop him then."

Hecate stiffened. "To Hogwarts? Why do you say that?"

"He's tried to kill me twice since I've been here. Dumbledore said some of his powers went into me when I was a baby. He'll be wanting them back."

"You're saying that the best time to stop him is..."

Harry nodded. "When he comes after me. And there's more, Professor. We think the short wizard helping him is Peter Pettigrew. He's an animagus. He used to be my father's friend, but he betrayed him and then changed into a rat and disappeared. We saw him last year when Sirius Black got away, but no one believed us."

Hecate stood up. "I have to tell the Headmaster this."

"No, Professor, you mustn't!" cried Harry. He took a deep breath; he would have to tell her everything now.

"You know who Lucius Malfoy is? Draco's father, the one that everyone says is still on the Dark although he swears he's not? Well, Hagrid saw him and Snape talking together in Knockturn Alley just before Dumbledore died. Snape was telling Lucius something Lucius was very pleased to hear. We think they were plotting against Dumbledore. You know, sorting out when Voldemort was going to come and kill him. Hagrid said that Snape went white as a sheet when he saw him." He paused, but Hecate said nothing and so he went on.

"That potion Snape gave Dumbledore; we think it was a dark potion to weaken him before the attack. It made my scar itch when I smelt it and only dark things ever do that. I mean I practically heard Snape telling Dumbledore that the potion was going to kill him. Then Lucius got Snape made Headmaster and the Sorting Hat says he's going to make him even more powerful, so long as he doesn't interfere when Lucius and Voldemort come to kill me."

"You're saying that Professor Snape has gone over to the Dark?" asked Hecate.

"I'm saying he never left it, Miss. You have to remember that class of yours he sat in on? He said that people don't ever return from the dark. He meant himself! I think he hated my father so much he went bad and now he's after me too."

"I do recall that lesson," Hecate answered slowly. "We were talking about how you can tell if people have really come back from the dark, weren't we? I was explaining to you how you recognise them; they're moody and suspicious and mistrustful. And they feel ill if they come near anyone or anything that's still dark."

Harry paused. This was not the reaction he had wanted. He had been so sure that Hecate would believe him and immediately write to the ministry. Now it seemed that she was more interested in seeing how his exam revision was coming along. He was silently grateful that he had not told her about his illicit trip to the Institute of Potions or their raid on Snape's office. Now he could not be sure that she would not have told him about it.

"You don't believe me then?" he said finally.

"Well, I think that there was a lot more to Professor Snape's becoming Headmaster than Lucius Malfoy for one thing. It's a ministry appointment after all, it's not in Mr Malfoy's gift. And people like Mr Malfoy are not always as powerful – or as clever – as they appear; or as they think. Then too, Professor Dumbledore must have known what Professor Snape gave him; after all he was the greatest wizard of his age. Could he have been fooled with a potion? And as I said in that class, Harry, I think I can tell when someone is on the Dark – or no longer there."

Harry heard Snape's sneering voice again as if it were whispering in his ear. "I know one when I see one." So Snape had been right to mock Hecate; she truly believed that she could tell that he was not dark. I can't blame her, he thought. This is a different kind of evil to any she's ever fought before.

"Harry, if I really believed that you were in danger from Professor Snape then I would help you and so would any of the other teachers here." Hecate went on. "But I don't. I do know that you and he aren't – each other's favourite people. And that it goes back further than that. But if there's one thing I do know it's that hate is a great distorter. Do you really think that you would believe these things if Professor Snape and your father – if Professor Snape and you – were not such enemies?"

It's no use, thought Harry. But he had to say one final thing. "Professor, when you speak to Dumbledore, will you tell us first?" he begged.

"Why?" asked Hecate "Oh, I see! Just in case I tell Professor Snape first and he pushes me into one of his specimen jars before I can turn him in to Azkaban! Harry, I will let you know what message Dumbledore has. But I don't believe it will be the one you expect. Now, I don't blame you, you've been through an awful lot this year. But I want you to put these worries out of your mind. Everyone at this school has your best interests at heart."

Harry left her to return to the common room disheartened and angry. He reported the conversation in whispers to Hermione and Ron.

"I was so sure she'd be different," he said.

"If Hecate says that..." asked Ron uncertainly. "Well, I mean, she should know."

"I mean, Snape did sort of save your life when Quirrell was after you that time in the Quidditch match," added Hermione.

"Well, if you two aren't on my side..." snapped Harry.

"Hey, we just went through all that," Ron told him. "Look, you know what I think about Snape. I think he's the worst teacher in the history of the world. I'd like to lock him in a cupboard with a rogue Bludger and throw away the key. But what Hecate says counts with me. She's not stupid."

"I'm pretty certain that the potion he gave Dumbledore wasn't Milk of Upas," added Hermione. "Something else: wouldn't Dumbledore have known about that year that's missing from Snape's records? He seemed to know everything about everyone. But he still employed him."

Harry shook his head. "I just don't know any more. We have to protect Hecate, now, too I think. I just wish Dumbledore would speak." He slumped down, suddenly as low as he had been on the day in the forest when Rodney had found him.

"Harry, I think I found something out in the library to cheer you up," said Hermione quickly. "You've still got that feather that Fawkes gave you, haven't you?"

"Of course," replied Harry, looking up. It was hidden with the Marauder's Map.

"Go and get it and meet me and Ron in the History of Magic classroom, then," Hermione told him. "It'll be quiet there. And bring your wand too."

Harry slipped up to his dormitory, retrieved the feather from its hiding place and hurried along to the classroom where his friends were waiting.

Hermione pulled out a small, thick book with 'Staffs of Power' written on it. "This is very rare," she said. "I asked Madam Pince for something about making or mending wands and at first she thought that there wasn't anything. People just don't do that sort of thing for themselves any more and they haven't for hundreds of years. They go to professionals like Mr Ollivander. But once upon a time, every wizard or witch used to make his or her own wand from materials they found on great adventures. I mean there was Dido the Trickster. She slew an evil dragon and used its heartstrings to make a wand. Or Akbar the Learned. He saved the life of a unicorn and it gave him some of its tail hairs in gratitude. Or..."

"Ronald the Impatient!" put in Ron. "He slew a witch who was trying to bore him to death by rambling on and never getting to the point, so he used her tongue to..."

Hermione tapped him smartly on the head with the book. It was obviously harder than it looked judging by his pained "Ow!"

"That's fine," said Harry "but remember, I've already got a wand, it's just that it's broken. I'd like to think that the new feather would mend it, but Mr Ollivander told me when I bought it that I was meant to have this particular wand." He shook it and a few pathetic sparks dribbled out of the end. "He said that no two phoenixes were the same too. It won't be the same if I change the feather. Maybe it won't even work for me any more. No, I have to have my old wand." Even if it did have a feather from the same phoenix as Voldemort inside it, he thought.

Hermione flipped the book open triumphantly. "Akbar already had a wand too. He needed a new unicorn hair to put in it because a demon had stolen it and given it to a hellhound to play with. By the time Akbar got it back, it was half chewed to pieces. But Akbar's master told him that it would be all right to repair it since it wasn't his fault that it got damaged in the first place; and if the unicorn would give him the new hair freely. It wouldn't have worked if he had stolen the unicorn's hair or if his wand had been snapped because he'd done something wrong."

"And was his wand the same after?" asked Harry.

"Exactly. He wound the new hair around the old and it was as good as new. What you need to do is burn off the damaged end of the old feather and twist the new one around it. Fawkes gave it to you as a gift and it wasn't your fault that the wand got broken."

"It's worth a try," said Harry.

"Put it this way, you don't want to face You-know-who with a dodgy wand," Ron told him. "Let's do it!"

Harry took the feather out of his pocket and gave the wand to Hermione. She held it carefully and checking the book, whispered " _Virga extremitaperte_ " to it, while waving her own wand. When she gave it back to Harry he saw that the tip was hanging loose again. Peering inside he could see the black end of the feather.

Hermione began to chant a firemaking spell. "Open the window, Ron" she said. Ron hurried over. She motioned to Harry to follow. He teased the feather out of the wand's heart. Then Hermione set fire to its end. They watched it burn and did their best to wave the black smoke that rose from it out of the open window. Even so, Harry felt his scar beginning to smart.

"That should be enough," he said at last. The original phoenix feather was now clean, if shorter. Harry took the new feather and carefully twisted the two together into a golden and red chain. Then he fed it very carefully back into the wand.

Hermione took it again. " _Extremitaclausa_ ," she said, and tapped it with her wand. The tip was whole again.

"Try it out," Ron told Harry.

Harry held his wand out and swept it up and down. Instantly sparks flew out of its end and he felt a surge of power shoot up his arm. It was as astonishing as the first time he had held it in Ollivander's shop.

"It's right again!" he cried in pleasure as Hermione and Ron gasped and applauded. Thank you, Fawkes, he thought, thank you, Professor Dumbledore, thank you, my friends, I owe you so much. He felt as if all of them were gathered together in the room around him, loyal and compassionate, their friendship warming him like bright sunshine. He could not help thinking that somehow they had rearmed him for the fight to come.


	30. Springtime, part 1

**Chapter 9: Spring**

Harry felt his confidence growing even stronger over the next few days. Now, whatever was about to happen, he was certain that he could face it. Dumbledore had sent the phoenix feather; when he spoke to Hecate it would surely be not only to denounce Snape but also to give Harry instructions on how to defeat both Snape and Voldemort. Hecate would have to believe the old Headmaster even if she did not believe Harry.

In the meantime, Harry and his two friends took it upon themselves to spend as much time as possible with her. "She needs someone to look after her just in case," he said as Ron nodded vigorously.

"Right, and it's not just Snape – I'm not sure that my stupid brothers have given up their pathetic tricks yet."

They took it in turns after lessons to talk to her; Ron about Quidditch, Hermione about the most obscure Dark Arts techniques that she could find, Harry about healing war zones.

"It's like having my own little fan club," Hecate had smiled. But she seemed happy enough to talk, especially as they did not bring up their suspicions of Snape.

All four of them walked out of the school together one evening after lessons to stroll in the grounds. "Those are your brothers over there with Hagrid, aren't they?" asked Hecate, nodding to where Fred and George were standing talking to the Gamekeeper.

"They're still supposed to be helping him around the place for their detention," Ron told her. "Let's go over and watch; they'll hate that! Hello Hagrid, not working them hard then?"

"Shut up, you cheeky little git!" said George as they drew closer. He caught sight of Hecate and ran a quick hand through his hair.

"Well, I've worked harder than the castle boomslang," boasted Fred. "Builds up the muscles, you know."

"Evenin', Perfessor, Harry, Ron, Hermione," said Hagrid. "Well, Fred Weasley, that's true. Yeh've had yer nose ter the grindstone these past few weeks, an' yer brother too." He rubbed his chin with his hand. "Ter tell the truth, I can't think of a single job more ter give yeh right now. So off the two of yeh go before Perfessor Snape sees yer!"

"Sees yer doing what?" asked a cold voice behind Harry.

"Hullo, Headmaster," said Hagrid as everyone else jumped and Harry wondered for the hundredth time how Snape managed to sneak up on people like that. Years of practice, I suppose, he thought to himself.

"I wuz jus' sayin' I've run out o' jobs ter give Fred an' George here ter do, so they might as well run along." Hagrid explained. "Fer now."

"If you don't mind, Sir," put in Fred with studied politeness. "Only we'd like to catch up on some homework."

"And if we leave now, we can reach Zonko's before they close," added George.

Snape scowled at them all and gave Harry a particularly foul grimace. Smile away, thought Harry. I'm onto you. The Headmaster turned to look out over the school grounds.

"What about the lower field?" he said to Hagrid. "The brush there is practically six feet tall. It's wasted land. Put them to work cutting that down."

"It'ud be a hellish job, Sir," answered Hagrid.

"I'll try to live with the guilt," said Snape drily. "You've got some kind of scythe they can use, I assume?"

Hagrid suddenly stiffened. What's wrong with him? thought Harry.

"Eh, Sir, yeh mean...well now," he glanced awkwardly at Harry, "yeh can't be thinkin' o'makin' the twins use that. After all, they could, well, cut each other inter bits if they're not careful."

"One lives in hope, Hagrid," drawled Snape.

Fred and George's faces collapsed as they began sadly to wave good bye to some free time.

"I'm not sure, Sir..." continued Hagrid.

"I am," Snape snapped. "Now, assuming that you still enjoy working here, go and get the sickle."

Harry's mind was suddenly filled with a picture of the great shining blade that Hagrid had shown them in his hut. On what day had that been? The day that Firenze had told them his prophecy...the sickle...the sickle and the twins...

He nudged Hermione sharply in the ribs. She looked back at him, wide-eyed, to show that she was thinking on the same lines. Hecate gave the two of them a quizzical frown.

"Oh, for goodness sake, Hagrid, don't worry about us, we'll do the flaming job," sighed Fred. "Where do we have to go?"

"NO!" roared the Gamekeeper. "Sir," he continued to Snape "Yeh cannot – yeh must remember – the twins are _not_ holdin' that sickle!"

"Hagrid, we went over this," hissed Snape. "Now, I have explained to you, this isn't something you understand. Just do as I say."

"No, Sir," replied Hagrid with dignity. "I won't. That sickle's my property anyways – m'father gave it ter me as a birthday present many years ago – it's not the school's. And I don't choose ter lend it out."

"Oh, Hagrid what a disappointment! I wanted to cut down a load of old grass but if that's how you feel..." put in Fred.

Harry thought that Snape was going to spit at Hagrid, he looked so furious.

"Perhaps I could help, Headmaster?" said Hecate, stepping forward. "If the Messrs Weasley still have some detention left to serve, well, I need two assistants to help me prepare and present a lesson in spell detection next week. It'll mean a lot of fiddly, tedious work. I'm sure they wouldn't enjoy it."

Fred and George both grinned widely and then quickly tried very hard to look as if spending time with Hecate would be torture to them. Snape faced them down with a glare. Finally he said, "As you please, Professor. I have more important matters to attend to for now. To begin with, I need to speak to you."

"Now, Headmaster?" asked Hecate. "O.K. There's still a staff meeting at nine o'clock tomorrow is there?"

Snape nodded curtly.

"Should I be there, Perfessor?" asked Hagrid.

"No," said Snape as he walked off with Hecate. "It's for members of staff who managed to get as far as third year astrology!"

Hagrid heaved a sigh. "Look after yerself, Harry," he said and strode off in the direction of his hut.

"Woo-hoo!" smirked George. "We're going to be Sugar Lips's glamorous assistants! At her own request! Cheer up, Ron. I can't help it if she prefers the older man!"

"Mess her around and I'll feed you to Aragog," growled Ron.

"Wonder why Hagrid didn't want us cutting down that field?" mused Fred.

"Probably got a whisky still hidden there! Who cares?" Laughing, the two of them ran off in the direction of Hogsmeade.

Harry turned to his friends. "Now do you see?" he asked. "Hagrid was talking about Firenze's prophecy: 'The evil one will attack when the twins first grasp the sickle.'"

Hermione nodded. "Hagrid must have passed it on to Snape. He wouldn't tell us in case it worried you that he was taking it seriously."

"And Snape was trying to make Fred and George carry it out. It's as good as summoning Voldemort to kill me!"

"That's beyond evil," shivered Ron. "Do you think we should try and to talk to Hecate about this again? She might believe you now with this as well."

"I think she'll definitely believe us when she's spoken to Dumbledore," answered Harry. "She's said she'll let us listen. We'll explain it all to her then. At least it looks as if I've got a bit of time before Voldemort turns up."

They walked back to the castle with eyes alert.

A few days later, Harry had a more immediate danger to face: Valentine's Day. Emerging cautiously from the Gryffindor Common Room, he looked carefully up and down the corridor, ready to duck and run at the first sign of a card-carrying gnome. But he reached the Great Hall unscathed. Hermione was already sitting pink cheeked behind an enormous bouquet of wild flowers. Every now and again she peered out to give Crabbe a shy wave. Ron meanwhile was keeping an anxious eye first on Hecate and then on Fred and George.

"If those two idiots have sent her anything..." he muttered. But Hecate seemed to have no post at all. Neither did Harry; owls flew in and out of the Hall, dropping parcels and cards, but when Hedwig came, it was simply to nibble a piece of kipper and disappear with a friendly hoot. A few weeks ago and I was wondering what to get Cho, Harry thought.

Ron fidgeted through every class that day until Harry could barely stand to be next to him. "I can't believe Fred and George won't play some kind of trick, today of all days," he whispered to Harry more than once.

"Well, go and ask them, then," Harry told him finally.

"Tricks?" said George, when they found them. "Whatever can you mean, Ronald, old chap?"

"So you haven't sent Hecate some awful card and made it look like it's from Filch?" persisted Ron. "Or to Filch from Hecate?"

"Oh no. We haven't sent anything to her or from her," sniggered Fred, and that was all that Ron and Harry could get out of the twins before they scuttled away with wide smirks on their faces.

"I'm still sure they're up to something," Ron told Harry as they walked back to the common room after dinner. "Should I warn Hecate? Look, there she is now..." Professor Takushiki was emerging from her office.

"Everything all right, Professor?" Ron asked as they neared her.

"As right as rain, thanks, Ron," said Hecate with a smile.

"Nothing, um, weird in your post today?"

"If you mean, have I had a Valentine's Day card from Mr Filch, courtesy of your brothers, Ron, no," she answered. "They seem to have stopped that, now that they know that I know about it."

Ron sighed with relief. "Good. I told them they'd better cut it out or else. And, er," – he swallowed hard, hesitated and then plunged on – "for all they know, you might have a boyfriend who'd beat them up for doing things like that – if you asked him to."

Harry rolled his eyes.

"A boyfriend who'd beat them up?" chuckled Hecate. "No, I certainly don't have one of those!"

"You don't?" gasped Ron. His eyes began to grow wide.

"No – not that I'd want the kind who went around bashing people. I've had my fill of that sort of behaviour in war zones. And I like to think that I can look after myself in other ways." She waved good bye to them and headed off in the direction of the staff room.

"No boyfriend," mused Ron, suddenly thoughtful. "Do you suppose she's looking?"

"You heard her," Harry answered. "Let's go play Exploding Snap or something. Forget all this lovey-dovey stuff."

And so they spent the rest of the evening playing cards, when they were not shooting incredulous looks at Hermione, who was weaving the flowers in her bouquet into a coronet to put on her head.

In his dream, Harry was floating gently down a river in a boat, lying on his back and looking up at a night sky that was somehow also the ceiling of the Great Hall, as owls flew back and forth with Valentine posts in their talons. Suddenly the boat began to roll from side to side and an urgent voice was whispering in his ear.

"Harry! Harry!" he heard. "Wake up!"

The rocking grew fiercer; he surfaced muzzy headed from sleep and realised that Ron was crouching by the side of the bed, shaking his shoulder.

"You're spitting in my ear!" Harry hissed at him.

"And it's midnight!" added the clock on his bedside table with an angry tick.

"We have to take the invisibility cloak and follow Fred and George!" announced Ron briskly. "Hurry up!"

"Forget it," groaned Harry. "I'm tired. Whatever they're up to, I'm not interested."

"Fine, I'll take the cloak and go on my own then," answered Ron. And to Harry's amazement he began to climb up the dresser.

"That's my father's cloak!" Harry cried, sitting bolt upright in bed. "If anyone's using it, I am!"

"All right, then, but come on. They'll be miles away by now," begged Ron.

"Away where?" asked Harry, clambering out of bed and pulling on his jeans. He saw from Ron's anxious expression that there was to be no more sleeping for a while.

"You remember how they wouldn't say what they were up to earlier? Well I stayed awake just in case and I heard them creeping down the stairs to the common room a few moments ago. I'm sure they're off to play some trick on Filch and I'm _not_ having then embarrassing Hecate. They were talking about the giant parsley bush in the herb garden being a good place to hide, so that's where we need to go."

"If she can put up with your antics today, she can't be embarrassed," muttered Harry, as Ron handed the invisibility cloak down to him. Expecting the worst, he picked up his wand and followed Ron out of the dormitory, through the common room and into the dark corridor beyond.

They draped the invisibility cloak over themselves and crept through the silent castle. Peeves flew past with a decaying rose stuck between his teeth.

"Can't we go quicker?" hissed Ron, speeding ahead.

"Were not joined together like a pantomime horse, you know!" Harry grumbled behind him as the cloak began to slip off his shoulders.

At last they reached the castle grounds, peaceful under the starry sky. A bright moon was rising and the night air was surprisingly warm as they shuffled over the lawn, avoided the moat and reached the tidy squares of Professor Sprout's herb garden, laid out beneath the Hufflepuff staff quarters. They crept forward, avoiding the playful nip of a Clutching Creeper that suddenly unfurled over their path.

"Look, there's Mrs. Norris!" suddenly hissed Ron. "Filch must be here!" They stopped.

But Mrs. Norris was alone for once, sitting with her back to a tree, her tail swishing angrily backwards and forwards.

"What's got into her? She looks, well, _bothered_ about something," muttered Harry as they tiptoed past.

"Never mind, look for Fred and George!" answered Ron. But there was no sign of the Weasley twins in the still night.

"And what was it we were rushing to stop?" asked Harry as the silence lengthened.

"I'm not exactly sure... but if it's one of the twins' pranks, someone needs to put a stop to it!" answered Ron sternly. "Let's try over there."

But even as he spoke, another figure could be seen approaching the castle walls before them. As Harry stared, he saw that it was Filch, at the head of a small procession. Bringing up the rear were Hagrid and Fang, and in the middle trotted Rodney, the baby centaur they had met earlier.

"Will yeh come back here, yeh wee pernickety pony?" Harry heard the gamekeeper hiss.

"But Hagrid, I want to see what he's going to do!" protested Rodney. "I've never heard music before!"

"Sure yeh have, chuck, yeh were tellin' me yesterday how yeh heard Mars singing t' Venus, and what th' birds were sayin' in th' trees. It won't be music tonight, though, just a din. Put yer scarf on, lad, and get yerself back t'bed, now!"

He made a lightning grab for the baby centaur, but Rodney skittered away.

"Music? What's happening?" said Ron, puzzled.

"I think that's my line," Harry answered. "Let's see what's going on before rushing in."

"Filch!" Hagrid was bellowing. "These grounds are my grounds! If you want to sing, stick to the dungeons!"

"Now, now, Hagrid," said Filch, stopping at last at the edge of the herb garden. Harry saw that he had a large case slung over his back on a strap. "Love knows no bounds!"

"Huh!" snorted Hagrid and stood back with his hands on his hips. "If you uproot _one_ blade of grass from my lawn..."

"Not that it's not nice and cosy in here, gents," interrupted a voice from the case, "but a breath of air wouldn't go amiss."

Filch set the case down with a grunt and muttering about his back, began to undo it.

"What's that he's wearing round his neck?" Ron asked Harry in fascinated horror.

"A cravat," Harry answered. "My Uncle Vernon wears them sometimes. That's all you need to know about them."

But now Filch was lifting an object out of the case. Harry saw that it was golden and shiny and shaped like a small barrel about two feet wide. As Filch set it down on the lawn with a sigh it suddenly sprouted a pair of arms shaped like trumpets.

"What in the name of Slytherin's snakes is that?" asked Hagrid, fascinated. He bent over the barrel as Rodney approached it. Fang gave it a curious sniff.

"Thank you for your interest, sir. Hoffman's Orchestra-In-A-Barrel at your service, ideal for parties, dances, funerals and wherever good music is appreciated!" replied the barrel in a muffled brassy voice. "See our full page advert in The Daily Prophet for more details! Now, if you don't mind, we'll just warm up..."

Several more arms shaped like clarinets and saxophones sprang out from its sides, narrowly missing Rodney, Hagrid and Fang. The instruments began to tootle and riff.

"It was our Frank Sinatra sing-along special backing track you wanted, wasn't it, sir?" the barrel asked Filch unctuously. "A first-rate choice for the sophisticated serenader."

"Frank Sinatra?" asked Ron. "That was that bloke on the tape that Hecate was given for Christmas, wasn't it?"

Harry stiffened. "No way. He wouldn't..."

But even as Ron gasped and tried to fight his way out of the cloak, the little barrel cried "And a one, and a two, and a three!" and all its musical arms tooted together.


	31. Springtime, part 2

"Ahem," said Filch, clearing his throat and striking a pose. Then he flung his head back and began to sing.

 _"She's a girl so fine and dandy,_

 _She's my favourite sugar candy!_

 _A cockroach cluster is so nasty,_

 _But She's more like a pumpkin pasty!_

 _She's hotter than a pepper imp!_

 _If you're Her guy, don't be a wimp!_

 _An ice mouse couldn't be much cooler,_

 _Even a Boggart couldn't fool 'er !_

 _She makes my heartbeat go "chug! chug!"_

 _She's softer than a jelly slug!_

 _My favourite every flavour bean,_

 _The sweetest girl you've ever seen!_

 _So please don't make me fret and pine!_

 _Hecate, be my Valentine!"_

Harry and Ron had both clamped their hands over their ears as Filch began and prayed for a pair of fluffy pink earmuffs. But after a few bars, Harry lowered his fingers and cautiously listened.

"Ron, listen! Filch can sing!" he said, digging his friend in the ribs. It was a wonder equal to almost anything he had seen in the past three years. "Quite well for an old guy," he added hastily as he saw the look on Ron's face.

"I bet she hates it!" muttered Ron darkly. "It doesn't rhyme properly or anything!"

"One more time!" cried Hoffman's orchestra, rolling on its base as its arms frantically puffed and blew. The little centaur galloped around and around it, laughing and clicking his heels in time.

"Its no' bad!" cried Hagrid as Filch began again. "Not sweet like bagpipes, mind, but it's got a rhythm!" He began to clap in time.

"Thirsty work, Sir!" panted the barrel to Hagrid. The gamekeeper chuckled, and pulling a flask from his pocket, poured a generous swig of whatever was inside it into a hole on the barrel's side.

A couple of owls flew down and began to hoot along in time. Alongside Harry and Ron, Mrs. Norris set up a pitiful yowl. Even Fang sat down on his haunches and howled at the moon.

"Faster, Faster!" cried the centaur. The little barrel played on, rocking its arms backwards and forwards until it tipped over and began to roll down the slope to the moat.

"Help!" it called as Rodney and Fang raced after it. But just as it seemed that it must fall into the water it came to a halt.

"I do beg your pardon, Madam," it leered. "What attractive slippers!" and burped.

Harry saw that it had come to rest against Professor Sprout's legs. In the noise no one had heard her approach. The barrel presumably saw the look on her face as it drew all its arms in and rolled discreetly away.

Professor Sprout snorted and walked over to where Filch and Hagrid were now standing looking like a couple of first formers. Fang whimpered and hid behind his master and even Rodney paused.

"I'm sorry, Professor," said Filch at last with dignity. "But some things have got to be said. Or sung."

"Um, very charming it was too, Filch," answered Professor Sprout, "If a little loud. I'm sure Professor Takushiki would have thought so too, if she weren't still down at the Three Broomsticks Valentine's Day Dance with the rest of Hufflepuff House. But I enjoyed it!"

"Oh." said Filch sadly and turned away.

Harry and Ron crept off to their dormitory, noticing as they passed her that Mrs Norris seemed in a better mood. Above them two figures on broomsticks swept by, chatting.

"Fred and George," pointed Harry. "They must have been hiding in a tree somewhere."

"I knew it," growled Ron.

"Well, I still think stink bombs in a rose bouquet were the way to go," Fred was grumbling.

"Yes, that's because you've got no artistic vision!" George snapped back. "Some of us see the bigger picture!"

"Well, then, who nicked the paper?"

"And who enlisted Lee to deliver..." Their voices faded as they rounded the corner of the castle.

The next morning, over breakfast, Harry noticed Professor Sprout and Hecate deep in conversation. "I hope she's not telling Hecate about last night," said Ron. "I don't want her embarrassed."

"I don't think you have to worry," Harry told him. He had seen the hard stare that Hecate had just given an oblivious Fred and George.

Fred and George were waiting outside after class the next Monday. Hecate appeared not to notice them smirking and nudging each other. "First thing, gentlemen, please collect twelve twigs each around six inches long, and twelve stones each an inch or two across for each pupil in the fourth year." The boys looked at each other, dismay creeping over their faces as they did the mental arithmetic.

"Can't we use nails? Prof. Quirrell did," put in Fred. "We'd love to go into Hogsmeade and buy you a pound of nails. Can we, miss?"

Hecate considered. "Yes, do get some nails in addition – you may ask Mr. Filch for them."

George spoke up. "Instead of twigs, how about tongue depressors perhaps? We could get those at the apothecary shop. And we could pick up as many stones as you like from the Hogsburn waterfall."

Hecate raised her eyebrows. "Headmaster Snape said you were confined to grounds." She unrolled a packet that contained two canvas bags. "Inside each one of these is a pair of clippers. I'll expect you tomorrow morning directly after breakfast with the materials."

"What are you going to do, miss?" asked Ron as his brothers filed out.

"Come to class and find out!" she grinned.

The story of the twins' detention had traveled fast. Everyone seemed excited about the spell detection lesson. Harry and his friends gulped down their lunch and ran up the stairs to the Defense classroom. At each table was a large flat tray marked off into four sections. Various bits of metal, wood, leather and stone occupied the left-hand sections, while those on the right-hand side held several types of candy. The top sections were both labeled "Enchanted", and the bottom sections "Original". On a cloth mat next to the tray lay several piles of similar small objects: stones, twigs, nails, chocolate frogs, jelly slugs, and Every Flavour Beans. Harry spotted a drill bit in his collection. He reached out to turn it over, curious to see if it bore the star-G Grunnings logo, but found that he couldn't. An invisible shield covered each tray. It felt prickly, like a thistle. He looked up to see Hecate grinning at him.

"I have asked my assistants to enchant a few dozen objects each with some kind of interesting but harmless spell, and to transform various kinds of candy into twigs, stones, and so forth," she explained.

"Oh, we've done that in Transfiguration," murmured Hermione to Crabbe at the next table.

"These have all been mixed together with ordinary twigs and stones – and candy. Your task today is to sort the enchanted objects from the untouched ones, and then determine insofar as possible which of the enchanted ones are really candy and which are... tricky. And if my assistants are true to their reputations there may be some other interesting surprises there." She scanned the room carefully. "Only don't eat any of the candy until I've checked it myself."

Goyle scratched his head and then slowly raised a hand. "Why can't we just say ' _Finite incantatem'_? And then eat?" The class broke into snickers and Goyle flinched as Draco poked him under the table.

Hecate raised a hand to silence the class. "Mr Malfoy, there is no such thing as a stupid question if it's asked sincerely, so you will kindly keep your hands to yourself. Now, who can give us some reasons why a plain _Finite_ won't always work? Mr Longbottom?"

"The spell might have been put on with more power than you can invest in taking it off."

"Good, more?" She surveyed the array of hands in the air. "Miss Parkinson?"

"The spell might use another ending command, like 'desine' or 'solvete'."

"Right again," smiled Hecate. "You've been paying attention in Charms. Any more ideas? Mr Malfoy, perhaps?" She looked at him sternly.

Draco edged downward in his seat as Ron's hand rose into the air.

"Mr. Weasley, then?"

"It might be protected with a secret sign or password."

"Exactly." She rewarded him with a smile. " It so happens that a password is what we have here. Has everyone found the shields over the trays? Good. In a moment we'll try opening them. When you're confident that you can tell the difference between the enchanted and the original materials in the first tray, you can try your new discrimination skills on the items on the mat. The password is 'don't touch anything with your hands'. Got it? Follow that advice too, because if you do touch something, you'll set off any spell that might be on it. Ready, go!"

Harry pointed his wand. "Don't touch anything with your hands: _finite incantatem_.." He felt a little disturbance at the end of his wand, but not what he had expected. Ron was already reaching forward, but he drew back suddenly. Harry probed with his wand. The shield was still there.

Across the room Millicent Bulstrode let out a whoop. "We got it, people, it's ' _solvete_

 _invocationem_ '!"

"It is not," retorted Seamus. "We tried that one."

"Feed more power into it," Bulstrode commanded. "It sticks."

Harry tried it, putting everything he had into the spell. With a loud _crack_ the shield flashed bright white, and a nasty tingling shock ran up his wand into his arm. He grimaced, rubbing his fingers. Next to him Ron bent close over the tray, his wand held lightly between his fingertips.

" _Finite, consume, desine, solvete... desine, desine_ ," he chanted softly _, "incantatem, invocationem, carmen magam, carmen magam..._ " He straightened. "Check it out, Harry, the wrong words bounce and the right ones sink in." Harry followed his example. It was true, though he could feel it better with his bare hand than with his wand. In a moment they had both trays open, and it had taken only the merest hint of power.

The room seemed to throb with excitement as one team after another opened their trays and began investigating the articles within. Harry passed his wand over the enchanted twigs and stones. He could feel something, at first only faintly – a nearly imperceptible vibration, a hint of something more substantial than air around them, a magnetic pull or push. The candy had a curious coolness and slowness to it, except for one particularly fiery pepper imp; the drill bit and some of the nails and twigs produced a sharp metallic tang that he somehow sensed behind his eyes; and the enchanted stones gave him shiny, salty prickles, gossamer softness or a strange combination of glass-sliver danger and sharp fragrance that reminded him of a broken perfume bottle. It was as if each enchanted object was a little restless and was muttering about it to itself, and then to Harry, in several little voices that he could feel rather than hear.

He turned to the non-enchanted objects. At first he felt no response to his probing, exactly as he expected. He was about to write them off as inert, but at Ron's urging he returned to them, trying to calm his mind and open his senses. Gradually the sensation Ron had described began to dawn on him, flowing up his wand and through his fingers: there was no restlessness here. All of the objects rested serene and content in their own forms and their voices, if he could have heard them, would have been single, pure notes.

"The enchanted ones – they know that there's something strange about them," Ron told him, seeing Harry's expression. "The original ones – they know what they are."

A peal of laughter erupted across the room and Harry darted aside as Zabini rushed past him, chasing a stone that fled across the floor and ricocheted around the corner of the classroom, barely missing Lavender's ear. Like a Snitch, thought Harry, putting out a hand to seize it. He lobbed it back to Zabini, who caught it easily.

At the next table Lavender whispered to Parvati, then huddled with her over the table. Harry could not see what they were doing, but they were certainly concealing something. Hermione had noticed too, and bit her lip.

"No fair, ladies!" called George jovially. "No Divination shortcuts allowed!"

"But how are we supposed to tell the difference? They all feel the same," complained Lavender, sweeping a handful of tiny sticks into her bookbag. She glared suspiciously at him. "Is this one of your tricks?"

"Of course not!" protested George, with an air of wounded innocence. "Give me your wand, now put your hand right here on mine... You too, Miss Patil..." Rather hesitantly, Parvati took her place at his other side and placed her hand over his. "Now we go back and forth, back and forth..." He brought the two wands close together and swung them slowly between the enchanted and the natural objects. "Can you feel it yet?" Harry saw him shoot a triumphant look at his brother, who was going through the same routine with a disgruntled Draco and Goyle.

"Ooh, ooh, something's happening!" cried Parvati. Behind her Ron clapped his hand to his mouth, trying to stifle a snort of laughter.

Lavender turned on him. "That's not funny!" she snapped.

"I'm... sorry," Ron gasped. "I know, but the way she said it..." He waved an apology but as his hand dropped to the table it touched one of the twigs. "Ow! It hit me!"

"Serves you right," sniffed Lavender.

Harry paused. That twig was one he had been sure was natural. He nudged it with a finger, and it leaped up and rapped him smartly across the knuckles. Ron ran his wand over it, shaking his head, then waved to Hecate. "I'm sure it's not enchanted, but look what it does." Soon half the class was crowded around their table.

"No spell on that one," pronounced Hecate. She poked it, and it poked her back. "Amazing!" she mused.

"Miss?" piped Neville. "Miss, it's a willow twig."

"The Whomping Willow!" exclaimed Takushiki. "Well done Neville! Five points and a treat to Gryffindor." She pulled a flat rock from her pocket and slapped it into Neville's hand, where it gave a small "pop!" and turned into a pumpkin pasty.

As the lesson went on Harry couldn't help but be impressed with the twins' creativity. Some of the twigs and stones were turning into worms and beetles, which crawled over the tables setting off other spells. Pansy Parkinson shrieked with laughter as a long nail on her tray turned into a feather and began to tickle her. Seamus held up a twig that had gone limp as a Dali watch, and Goyle warbled tunelessly on a stone that had become an ocarina. Draco managed to quench a twig that had caught fire using two stones that had transformed into ice cubes, earning a thumbs-up from Takushiki and an adoring glance from Pansy.

"That's strange," remarked Crabbe, probing a pine twig at the next table over. "It feels enchanted, Hermione, but somehow it also feels like a twig."

Frowning, Hermione ran her wand over it, then her hand. "It's ambiguous...meaning not definitely one thing or the other," she explained before Crabbe could ask. Finally she shook her head. "I can't figure it out," she admitted with a sigh. "You try again. You're the one with a talent for this. If you talk through it maybe I'll get it too."

Crabbe's mouth dropped open and he turned bright pink. "D'you really mean it?" Glumly, Hermione nodded. Crabbe picked up his wand again and floated the tip carefully over the twig. "It's a twig, but it's enchanted, it's not in its proper form, it should have a little uh, branch right there, maybe a bud at the end...are you getting it, Hermione?"

She shook her head but slowly began to smile. "I think I know what it is – it must be a twig transformed into a different twig! Oh, touch it and let's see!" Crabbe flicked it with a fat finger, and suddenly they were looking at an oak twig with an empty acorn cup still attached. "You got it!" they both exclaimed at the same time. Crabbe lifted her off the floor in an enormous hug, and Harry heard her whisper, "Vince, I'm so proud of you."

It was the best lesson they'd had since Lupin's boggarts, thought Harry. Hecate moved from table to table with the twins, checking the students' work and verifying that the Licorice Wands, Every Flavor Beans, and Ice Mice were really what they appeared to be. Fred and George were in their glory: even Ron had been forced to admit that their spells had been original and fun. As they finished their cleanup, Hecate called everyone over. One last twig lay innocently in the center of Parvati and Lavender's table.

"It's a chocolate, don't you think?" Parvati was saying, as Neville frowned.

"Don't you think it's rather thick to be an ordinary twig?" murmured Lavender.

"It's chocolate, but there's something else there," said Neville. "Maybe the card in a chocolate frog? Ron, you have a go." Ron passed his wand carefully around the twig. So did Harry.

"It's not chocolate. It just feels like it," Ron pronounced.

"It is too – it's the strongest chocolate I've felt today," retorted Harry. One by one the rest of the students tested it.

"There must be caramel too – it's sticky, don't you think?"

"Not, ahh, sticky but it's, ahh, tricky somehow, what do you think, Cho?"

"Could it be a chunk of fudge? Or one of those really expensive chocolates?"

"If I pick it up, can I have it?" asked Goyle eagerly.

Hecate laughed. "No, we'll leave this one to my assistants. Gentlemen?" The twins hurried over, basking in the attention. Before long they had both declared it chocolate.

"Here, class, I'll show you," announced George, and picked up the twig. To his dismay, it remained a twig. Draco and Goyle snickered as his face fell.

"Give it here, George my boy," said Fred rather boastfully. "Leave it to the senior partner."

He reached for the twig, but as soon as he touched it a deep rumble sounded, and a fountain of melted chocolate burst from each end of the twig, drenching both twins.

"Hey! I can't let go!" cried George, struggling frantically.

"Me neither!" By now each one was covered in at least a bucketful of chocolate, and it kept on pouring out at them. As open-mouthed shock gave way to hilarity, guffaws broke out and soon everyone was laughing. In the midst of the commotion the door opened and Filch's nose appeared in the gap.

"You wanted to see me, Professor?" he said with a sniff. "I'm a busy man, you know, I can't be running on fool's errands around this place morning, noon and night, just because some people think it's funny to send me on them; and if this is some sort of prank..."

"Ah, Mr Filch, I see you got my note," said Hecate with a winning smile. "Do come in."

"Er, yeah," said Filch, pulling a sheet of pink flowered notepaper out of his shirt pocket. "And I might say, after the last one..." Then as he pushed the door wide open, he caught sight of Fred and George. "Thanks for inviting me," he finished and began to chuckle.

Harry was breathless with laughter. He clutched the table, barely able to stand up.

"What's going on?" shouted Fred. "We're stuck to the floor! _Finite! Consume incantatem!_ "

"It's up to our ankles," gasped George. The twig continued to pour out melted chocolate, which streamed from their shirts down over their pants and socks. " _Solvete! Desine!_ Belay the charm, dammit!"

Hecate winked broadly at the caretaker. "I thought you might enjoy this lesson, Mr Filch," she said.

The chocolate heap was mounting, nearly up to the twins' knees.

"Now, class," she continued. "It doesn't look as if any command is going to stop this spell, whatever its ending words are. So what else could it be?"

"A password," put in Filch quicker even than Hermione. "Everyone knows that. I got a special credit for that bit of ...an advanced correspondence course I happen to be taking".

"Ah, the password, yes!" Hecate faced the twins, her hands on her hips. "Would you two tricksters like to guess the password for this chocolate spell?"

"We don't know!" yelled George. He raised his hands pleadingly. The end of the twig swung up and drenched his face and hair with huge gouts of muddy brown.

"Guess," said Hecate, implacable.

"I'll bet it's something you young ruffians should have said long ago," growled Filch.

"We're sorry!" shouted Fred, rearing back just in time to avoid a squirt in the face.

"Sincerely sorry," George put in, chocolate dripping from his chin. "We won't play any more tricks on you, miss." His voice trembled.

Hecate was implacable. "Not just me."

"On Mr. Filch either," cried Fred miserably. Was the torrent of chocolate slowing down?

"We won't play pranks on anyone ever again. Or put anyone else up to it," moaned George. As he spoke, the flood of chocolate diminished to a dribble.

"How do I know you mean it?" demanded Hecate.

"Word of honor," chorused the twins sadly. They stood there cemented to the floor under Filch's stony glare, listening to the laughter.

"Don't make promises you can't keep, boys," said Hecate. "You'll both play jokes until the day you die. But from now on you should be able to detect the difference between a harmless prank and a mean trick you ought to be ashamed of."

She handed her wand to the caretaker. "Whenever you're ready, Mr. Filch."

Filch looked startled for a moment. Then, realising what she meant, he screwed up his face and swept his hand over his bald pate. He clutched the wand in both hands, aiming it straight at the twig. Staring fiercely from under his bushy eyebrows, he declared through clenched teeth: "Finn-a-tay, In-can-taw-tum!" A great puff of chocolate-scented smoke enveloped the twins. They stumbled out of it, coughing and choking, each still hanging on to one end of a chocolate frog.

"It was candy after all," giggled Hermione.

"And you'd better keep your word," Filch intoned darkly, "or something worse may happen to you."


	32. Springtime, part 3

Harry thought wistfully about the spell detection lesson in his next potions class. He was mashing up freeze-dried spiders, making them into a paste with squid ink and trying to place the resulting gloop in little parcels made of vine leaves. Snape seemed to have deliberately set them the most awkward task he could, so that he might concentrate on writing notes in a large black book at his desk. For his ruddy lecture, I suppose, thought Harry.

Beside him, Ron swore as yet another fragile packet of vine leaves split in two before he could drop it into his cauldron.

"I wish Hecate took all our classes," he muttered. "And if Crabbe says 'Look, Hermione, it's working!' one more time, I'll stuff him with crushed spiders."

Hardly any of the class had managed to assemble the potion ingredients when Snape looked up, closed his book and said; "You can clear up now."

"He's happy to get rid of us, for once," said Ron as they began to tidy up.

"Got his precious lecture to worry about," said Harry. "Hey – here comes Hecate."

Professor Takushiki was standing in the classroom doorway. "Just to let you know I've finished, Headmaster," she said in a low voice that Harry could only just catch over the rushing water he was using to rinse his cauldron. "Everything's double checked, Professor Sinistra is almost finished with his charts, too..."

She glanced at Harry. "Would this be a good opportunity to tell...?"

Snape followed her gaze. "No" he said abruptly. "And we need to talk this over elsewhere, Professor." He swept out of the classroom, motioning to Hecate to follow.

"What was all that about?" asked Ron. "She was looking straight at you."

Harry shrugged. "If it's something Hecate thinks I should know, then Snape would probably stop her telling me out of spite."

They were still discussing the conversation they had overheard between Hecate and Snape after dinner that night, when Harry looked out of the common room window and saw Hedwig perched on the sill. He opened it to let her fly in and she dropped a note into his lap. It was on Hecate's bamboo-patterned paper, and it read:

 _It's time to talk. 11 o'clock tonight in my office. H. Takushiki._

"It must mean that Dumbledore is going to speak to us!" Harry told the others.

"And Professor Snape too, do you think?" asked Hermione.

"Not a chance. Hecate knows he'd never agree to us being there. This must be just for us. She can use that bit of windowsill I gave her to contact Dumbledore; she doesn't need to go and get one of his old possessions from Snape, now. Maybe she's coming round to believing us."

To himself he thought: Finally, I'll know what happened when he died.

They made a great show of going up to their dormitories at ten o'clock, stretching and yawning, and then had to lie awake in the dark waiting for everyone else to fall asleep. Finally, Neville started to snore and Ron and Harry could creep back down the stairs to the common room to meet Hermione. They clambered through the portrait hole and threw the invisibility cloak over themselves to hurry along the moonlit corridors to Hecate's office.

"Come in, it's almost time," Hecate whispered as Harry knocked gently on the door. She motioned them in and indicated that they were to sit on some cushions she had arranged on the floor, "Earlier this week, Nicolas Flamel spoke to me and told me that Professor Dumbledore was anxious to communicate; with you three and especially with you, Harry."

Harry nodded eagerly.

"I'd better explain what I'm going to do, so you won't be puzzled or alarmed. You already know that I can speak to the Dead by holding one of their possessions. I can't hear them, though..."

"That's why you use the sign language, then?" Harry interrupted.

"More investigation?" Hecate raised her eyebrows. "Very well, let's begin. I'll tell you what Dumbledore is saying and you can speak back to him via me. Stay quiet and still while I find someone to interpret for me."

Harry, Ron and Hermione hardly breathed as Hecate kicked off a slipper and put her foot on the chunk of limestone. Then she began to speak, moving her fingers in the rapid patterns that Harry and Ron had seen once before when she had talked to the dead Squibs at Snape's request.

"Melissa? Ah, sorry, you're busy. Roxane? Can you translate for me? I need to...Oh, he's already there..."

And then, although it was Hecate's voice that they heard, it was Albus Dumbledore who filled the room.

"Harry! Out of your dormitory at this hour? What will Professor McGonagall say?"

Harry felt a lump in his throat but at the same time he laughed with the sheer pleasure of hearing his old headmaster again. But then another thought overwhelmed him.

"Tell him I'm sorry," he said to Hecate. "I mean, sorry that I didn't get help in time when he asked me. I've tried to put it right since."

Hecate's hands moved rapidly.

"Harry, there was nothing you could have done, I promise. The important thing was that you should be safe. Put any other thought out of your mind."

Harry felt a great weight lifting off his shoulders.

"We know you were planning to fight Voldemort away from Hogwarts," he continued, "but he surprised you."

"You didn't expect him until after the rock, did you?" put in Hermione shyly.

"Ah, Miss Granger, as shrewd as ever!" Hermione blushed. "No, Tom Riddle did take me by surprise for a moment – he accepted my challenge a little too enthusiastically – but an old teacher always has a trick up his sleeve to deal with a disgruntled pupil. I realised that he was intent on stealing my powers – and blowing up half of Hogwarts in the process – so I pushed Mr Malfoy to safety and created the final explosion that landed me here. I was rather hoping that Tom and Peter would have joined me at the same time, but it seems that they had taken the precaution of insulating themselves from harm."

Hecate's fingers moved again. There was a chuckle. "Yes, I dare say that they have solved the mystery of the Squibs. One more reason why Voldemort must be stopped."

"Sir, we know about Snape and that Dark Arts potion!" said Harry. "We know he was plotting with Lucius Malfoy against you and now he's helping Voldemort to come back for me..."

Hecate raised her eyebrows but continued to sign.

"Well, we think it was one of two potions," added Hermione. "Tell him that as well. But Firenze – the centaur from the forest – has told us that You-Know-Who is coming for Harry...I think maybe Professor Snape doesn't care."

"Miss Granger, the voice of caution! I am sure you will find the correct potion. I see you don't get on any better with Professor Snape as Headmaster, Harry. Now, I knew the potion that Professor Snape gave me and it had – and will have, if we are fortunate – an effect close to what I wanted. You are right; Voldemort will return. It is unthinkable that he would not seek to regain the powers he lost to you, Harry. That is why you must trust Professor Snape. Poor chap! He doesn't trust himself so other people have to do it for him!"

"Trust Snape!" cried Harry. "Professor, he hates me, he hates my father, he..."

"All unfortunately true," continued Dumbledore. "Nevertheless there is more to the man than unfortunate appearances. Trust him, Harry. I do."

Harry shook his head, bewildered. Then a thought occurred to him. How could Dumbledore know that Hecate would not be repeating this conversation to Snape? If Dumbledore spoke openly and accused the Potions master – and Hecate let that slip – what would Snape do to her?

"Harry, the moon is sinking, I won't be able to speak to him much longer," Hecate told him. There was one last thing.

"Have you met my parents?" he asked.

"No, Harry," said Dumbledore. "I'm sorry. There are distances here as there are in your world. Maybe one day. But remember, there is a sense in which they are always with you."

"Thank you," whispered Harry.

"Thank you, Professor Dumbledore," added Hecate. "Is there anything else you want to tell us?" She smiled. "He says that the socks there are excellent and that you never lose one of a pair."

She sank back into her chair and put her sandal back on. "Are you happier now, Harry?"

"Yes," Harry told her. At least Dumbledore had confirmed that that Voldemort was coming. "Thanks for letting me talk to him, Professor."

"And no more 'Professor Snape is trying to kill me'? I will certainly tell him that Dumbledore believes an attack on you to be very likely."

He'll be delighted, thought Harry. Aloud, he said "That's fine, Professor." He wanted to speak to Ron and Hermione now.

They crept back into the common room and sat down by the fire, too excited to go back to bed.

"We forgot to tell him that Malfoy took some of that potion!" said Ron, slapping his head.

"Maybe he knew," said Harry. "He said something about it possibly having the effect he wanted, if we were fortunate."

"Now I'm confused," said Ron. "I was so sure after that business with Fred and George and the sickle that Snape was on You-Know-Who's side. So why did Dumbledore tell us to trust him?"

"It's obvious," answered Harry. "Dumbledore knows Snape will be pestering Hecate to talk to him. She may have to tell him about our conversation. Suppose he told her the truth and she blurted it out to Snape? She'd be toast! Of course Dumbledore doesn't trust Snape! He's only protecting her."

Ron nodded but did not look entirely convinced.

"Then what about the potions?" said Hermione. "He said I was right to be cautious. I knew I was right. It's not Upas Milk. He said I'd solve that part of the mystery."

"He meant that you're a know-it-all," muttered Harry.

Hermione sniffed. "I'm going to stay up and finish my translation of the second page we copied from Snape's notebook. I'll explain it to you in the morning." She marched off to bed.

"I can hardly wait," said Ron.

Harry lay awake for a long time going over the conversation with Dumbledore in his mind. We kept our promise to tell him what we knew, but it hasn't gotten us anywhere. Why did he tell me to trust Snape? What was the potion that Snape had made? The only thing I know for sure is that Snape hates me, he told himself, and fell asleep.

The next day was a Saturday. Harry woke late with his mind still spinning. When he came down to breakfast, Hermione was already perched at the end of the Gryffindor table. Seeing him, she began to make frantic nodding signals towards the door. He grabbed a bacon sandwich and followed her out into the grounds. Ron was already sitting on a tree stump, stoically munching the piece of toast that Hermione had apparently allowed him to snatch before shepherding him out.

"I've been able to translate almost all of it apart from the introduction," she told them, taking out her notebook. "Are you ready?" She began to read.

"...A potion where the skill lies in the blending and the smallest slip will render it pointless. Take great care to confirm the age of those who will drink it; it will be nothing more than slop if the ingredients are not matched to this. Once the First has taken it he will grow weak and faint for a time; the Second must swallow his share as close as possible to this, otherwise all your efforts are useless. But once the First has paid the forfeit, the Second may face his enemy with ease when he next attacks. Thus we call this potion 'Doomspell', its creator saying that it 'spelled a doom' to whomsoever attacks its drinker."

"Ingredients; extract of venomous tentacula, squid ink, curare, hemlock, leviathan scale, python skin."

"So, what does that mean?" asked Harry.

"There's a bit at the start I couldn't make out," said Hermione "but this must be the potion that Snape made for Dumbledore. You heard him say that it had to be made in a different way depending on the age of who was going to drink it and that there had to be a second drinker."

"I thought that meant that Dumbledore had to down it in two goes," said Ron.

"Not according to this; it says two people have to drink it close together."

"But it still says that a forfeit has to be paid. And Dumbledore did end up dead," persisted Harry.

"Nothing's happened to Malfoy, though." replied Ron. "Some of the ingredients are the same as the ones in Snape's potion supplies notebook. I recognise tentacula and curare. I wonder how it's supposed to protect anyone."

"Maybe it was supposed to protect Voldemort?" Harry shrugged. "That explosion didn't get him, did it?"

"But he never drank it."

"Why couldn't you translate the first bit?" Harry asked Hermione.

"I might have copied down some of the symbols wrong. And there are some letters that look the same in several alphabets. We were in a hurry, remember, and I didn't realise how difficult it was going to be to translate them."

"Then we need to go back to Snape's office and check," Harry told his friends. "If that potion wasn't Upas Milk; if this Doomspell potion was the one that Snape really gave Dumbledore – well, we need to know everything about it."

"I'm game, but when?" said Ron.

"Snape's going to London on Wednesday for that Potions Institute lecture," said Hermione. "If we waited 'til after lessons we could sneak in before dinner. Most people are planning to go to Hogsmeade straight after school; they've got a famous Quidditch player signing autographs at the sports shop. I heard Professor Takushiki say that she'd be going. We could use Floo powder on the fire in her office again. But I still think we've found the right potion now."

"I do too," Harry told her. "Still, we don't really understand what it does anyway."


	33. Springtime, part 4

Classes ground on as exams neared. "That was your last new lesson before we start revising," Hecate told them in Dark Arts. "Before we launch into this last debate, are there any final questions on the Confundus charm?"

Ron raised his eyebrows as Hermione kept her hand down. Oh, thought Harry, she must be saving it for after class.

Hecate wrote on the board:

 _Can Dark Arts be Used for Good?_

• _Poisons and other potential Dark ingredients_

• _Useful applications of existing Dark knowledge_

• _Potential Dark procedures_

"I wonder if she used any of Snape's notes," Hermione whispered.

"So: can dark arts be used for good purposes?" asked Hecate. "Who'd like to give the first opinion?"

Millicent put up her hand. "Yes and no. You can do it in the short run, but in the long run it's a bad idea. The reason is, the purpose may be a good one, but the darkness kind of gets inside the user."

"Hagrid uses slug poison from a shop in Knockturn Alley," Harry pointed out. "There's nothing wrong with that."

"Slug poison might be OK, but did you ever wonder how those guys got so good at making it?" asked Millicent. "You might get one good thing from them, but who knows what else they're working on? Don't you condone the rest of their work if you buy their slug poison?"

Ron broke in. "But poison isn't a Dark Arts issue, I mean, the ingredients aren't. Look at nightshade. Everyone knows it's a poison. But last year we made an asthma potion and it was the active ingredient."

Cho chimed in. "You've got examples, guys, but where's the principle?"

Seamus's hand was in the air. "Mr Finnegan?"

"A lot of so-called Dark Arts things aren't really dark. Just dangerous. If you're careful you can use those things and not cause a problem. Like the poisons you wrote on the board."

"What makes a dangerous ingredient different from a Dark Arts ingredient?" asked Hecate.

"Uh, a dangerous one can hurt you," said Crabbe slowly. "But you don't have to hurt anyone to get it. Or trick 'em," he added belatedly.

Hecate nodded approvingly. "Then what are some Dark Arts ingredients that aren't dangerous?"

"Unicorn blood," said Draco.

"He should know," whispered Harry to Hermione. Her hand shot up.

"Yes and no," she said. "Akbar the Learned saved a unicorn's life and nursed it back to health. He was the only one to use unicorn blood legitimately. He got it off the bandages."

"There's roosters' eggs," said Lavender. "There's lots you can do with them besides hatching basilisks – but you don't want to know what it does to the rooster." Hearing the chuckles, she looked down, embarrassed.

"Lavender's right," Parvati chimed in. "We don't do divination from bird entrails or turtle shells nowadays because it's too cruel. Tea leaves are just as good."

"Any more Dark ingredients?" asked Takushiki.

"Anything got by trickery or theft," announced Millicent, scratching a ruddy cheek.

Hesitantly Hermione raised her hand. "There's terror. It's the main ingredient in a dementor."

"Good one," smiled Hecate. "Or bad one, if you want to split hairs. Now dementors are one example of existing Dark knowledge. Wand lightning is another, and then various potions and drugs. Could it possibly be all right to use these things? After all, look where they come from."

"The potions should be OK, shouldn't they?" asked Pansy Parkinson. "After all, the ingredients are ordinary and the potions aren't meant to hurt anyone."

"Like slug poison again," ventured Crabbe.

"Right," put in Seamus. "Prof. Snape said the calming, cheering, and focusing potions we did a couple of weeks ago were based on old Dark Arts recipes to poison people or make them act crazy or put them in a trance."

Harry remembered the lesson. He had been dreading the effect that the potions and instruction lists would have on his scar, and was surprised to feel not so much as a twinge. He raised his hand. "Remember the masons that were here to fix the tower? One of them mentioned that they use wand-bolts for welding," he said.

"So even those are all right," said Takushiki. "A spell or potion developed for Dark purposes, when it is adapted for some benevolent purpose, gradually loses its Dark character. At first, people attuned to the Dark may sense something odd about the new product, but eventually the darkness is displaced.

Hermione's hand shot into the air. "But dementors are different. Those potions didn't use any Dark ingredients. But the only way to make a dementor is, well, as dark as dark."

"Did everyone get that distinction?" asked Hecate. "You've all read about how Grindelwald and Dienstmann invented them at the death camps by putting a ghost inside a shell and pumping it so full of terror and hopelessness that it is compelled to absorb any happy thoughts. I'm glad to say no one's making them nowadays, but we're stuck with all the ones left over from the war for as long as it takes them to wear out." She paused. "Do you think the Ministry is doing the right thing by using them?"

"Why doesn't the Ministry destroy them?" asked Neville, his voice trembling a bit.

"They would if they could," explained Hecate. "They did destroy all the unfinished ones they found. But now they've chosen to keep the dementors on Azkaban. Why could that be? Let's have some reasons."

"They make good prison guards," put in Draco.

"The best!" added Goyle with relish. Several others glared at him, remembering how the dementors had "guarded" Hogwarts the year before. It had been an unpleasant experience for everyone.

"Keeps them safely away from the rest of us," Ron was saying, as people around the room nodded. Harry suppressed a shudder. It was the best reason he'd heard so far. Ever since his wand had been repaired he had been practicing his Patronus again. He could not stop himself thinking about the strange, dementor like creature in Godric's Hollow. Had that been one that the Ministry had missed?

"They are kind of a special case," explained Hecate. "The Ministry is hoping that by using them as safely and positively as possible, that they may lose their Dark flavor and become easier to destroy. It's only fair to say, though, that even in the Ministry there are differences of opinion on Dementors."

"If something's there, why not use it," said Draco. "Even if it is called Dark. Who says what's Dark anyway?"

Cho nodded. "There must be times when the only way to win against the Dark is to turn their own arts back on them."

Hecate grinned. "I see some heads nodding and some shaking. Mr. Zabini, what do you think?"

"The, ah, Dark side, only uses Dark arts, ah, because they work. They do work," he said, "so why not, ah, use them to fight back?"

Millicent shook her head. "That's what I meant before, it might seem to be a good reason, but if you do that, don't you take a step into the dark yourself?"

"When the, ah, chips are, ah, down, what choice do you have?" he shot back.

"It's not as if the Dark Side were innocent bystanders," Cho added.

By now Hermione's hand was waving wildly. Takushiki pointed.

"Millicent's right," she declared. "If you use something that harms an innocent person, it's always wrong. Did you know there are spells out there that require the violent death of a victim to become active?" She grimaced, and swallowed hard. "I can't see it ever being all right to use those, even to destroy You-Know-Who."

Dean's hand flew into the air. "Are you kidding? When he's going to kill thousands more if he ever comes back to power?"

"Strange as it sounds, that's exactly right," said Takushiki. "Think about your history. Of the Dark wizards we've read about, many of them were apprentices to other Dark wizards. A few, not too many, went Dark on their own, out of hate or power hunger. But what about the rest of them?" She scanned the classroom, as hands began to creep into the air.

"They went bad while they were fighting the dark!" crowed Dean. Heads nodded all around. "They used Dark means to fight them, then they couldn't back out!"

"And some other ones condemned the innocent along with the guilty!" put in Pansy.

"OK, Hermione, you win - for now." Dean conceded, sitting back with a grin.

Hecate raised a hand. "Far too many wizards and witches have gone bad in a good cause. It's something we all have to watch out for in ourselves. How do you think ordinary wars get started? Too often it happens when people respond to violence with violence. The situation only escalates. In defense against the Dark, responding with Dark methods escalates the level of Darkness in the world."

Zabini put up his hand. "You, ah, mentioned spells that need, ah, a death to work. What if someone laid down their life, ahh, willingly, for that kind of spell?"

Takushiki looked slowly around the classroom, which had suddenly gone silent. Finally she spoke. "You'd be surprised how common that is. And it may not even require a spell to work against the Dark. In wartime, everyone gets involved. Grownups. Children. Wizards and Muggles. People with small flaws and great flaws. Any of them might risk their lives to defend principles they believe in, or to protect their friends or loved ones from harm. If they do it freely, and not under the influence of some drug or deception, the magic they release is not Dark at all. In fact, it's the most powerful defense against Darkness." She looked across at Harry. "Sometimes, it's the only defense."

Draco leaned back in his seat, a pained look on his face. "Really, miss, are you serious?" He swiveled in his seat and fixed his pale eyes on Harry. "People actually _do_ that? Get themselves killed for nothing? Only an idiot or a nutter would take a chance like that," he sneered, his voice rising. " I wouldn't, and I certainly don't know anyone else who would."

Hermione dropped her quill. "What? You don't?" Suddenly the whole class was silent again, leaning forward.

Harry leapt to his feet and wheeled to face Draco, scarlet with anger. " _What about Dumbledore?_ " he shouted. "How could you even say that? Why do you think you're alive right now? No one expects you to be grateful, but the least you could do is acknowledge what he did for you!" He stomped out of the class, furious.

Alone in the hall, Harry put his back against the cool stone wall next to the door and took deep, calming breaths. Gradually he sank down until he was sitting on the floor, and asked himself for the thousandth time, Dumbledore, why did you have to die? Inside him pain rose up again like a wave, but as it crested, bringing tears to his eyes, he realized that this time it was different from the other times. The grief was no longer empty; it was filled with a surging, cleansing power that washed away his anger. Harry felt the tears draining away inside his head. A few more deep breaths and they were gone, leaving him calm and whole again. This must be it, he thought, the strength Dumbledore wanted me to have. This is the feeling Cho was talking about, the resolve to honor your teacher and carry forward his art. I can do it now. Draco's nothing, he doesn't matter.

As he turned to go back inside, he saw that his classmates were beginning to collect their books. Hearing a footstep behind him, he quickly stepped out of the way as Snape swept by him with narrowed eyes to enter the classroom. The students began to file out around him, eyeing him warily as they passed. In the hallway, Seamus muttered "Way to go, Harry," and Cho gave him the thumbs-up sign. Harry stepped aside as Crabbe went by, his arm around Draco, talking to him earnestly; Draco looked angry and silent. After them came Goyle, who shoved Harry hard against the wall before moving down the corridor. Finally, Ron and Hermione emerged.

"Are you OK?" asked Hermione. Harry nodded. "Don't worry about Snape, Hecate told him she excused you."

"I had still better wait so I can apologize," said Harry. "What did I miss?"

"Nothing much, just Hermione asking another creepy question," Ron put in.

Hermione looked annoyed. "It was not creepy, it was important."

Fragments of conversation floated out of the classroom into the crowded hall. Hecate seemed to be saying something about astrology. "Sinistra…" they heard, and finally, "…ought to tell Harry." Snape's voice countered, but they could only hear a few words: laboratory, spells, check... Just then Snape looked over his shoulder at them with a poisonous glare. Instantly the conversation became inaudible.

Harry turned back to his friends. "You might as well tell me about it while we wait for her."

Hermione began. "Remember the Painless charm we learned? One you can't do on yourself? I only asked, what if one person had to do one of those death spells when another person had to die to make it work."

"What did she say?"

Ron put his hands in his pockets. "Her face got all sad, and she said she imagined it would be about the hardest thing any witch or wizard might have to do. She also said that...how did she put it... however ungraciously Draco pointed it out, there was always the chance that a human life would be lost in vain, and the spell maker would have to live with that possibility. See, it was creepy after all."

"Lost in vain?" asked Harry. "Slow down."

Hermione tried to explain. "If something went wrong with the spell, or later. She said that anyone who did that sort of magic for good would live all his life with awful doubts about it. I don't think that was creepy, was it?"

Harry shrugged. Now that the hallway had emptied, they could hear the teachers talking again.

"Why, given your opinion of Potions as glorified soup, would you bother to ask?" Snape was asking.

"In my class just now, one of the students mentioned your lesson in mood-altering potions. They could be quite useful in war mitigation," answered Hecate mildly.

"A line of work in which you are no longer involved." In his mind's eye, Harry saw Snape looking down his nose as he said it.

Hecate pressed on. "The question was this: Love potions can make a person love someone they normally would not. Can a potion make someone cross other lines they normally would not: for instance, go into the Dark or return from it?"

Snape sniffed. "If you expect to continue teaching Defense in this academy, you had better brush up on your Potions. Love potions work on the body, and the mind follows. This is why the victim so often falls for the wrong partner. Alliance to the Dark or Bright sides arises from principles. The mind leads and the body follows. A charm may alter the mind directly, but a potion cannot. You will find details in the fourteenth chapter of von Hohenheim."

In the hallway, Hermione opened her Potions book and tucked in a slip of parchment at the Chapter 14 heading.

"Interesting…" mused Hecate. She was silent for a moment. "May I ask another question? In wartime it's common to find people living in chronic stress - or anger, or grief or despair. In this case doesn't the mind follow the body? Could a calming or cheering potion prevent Darkness from entering a person through those tendencies?"

Now Snape seemed to be lecturing instead of belittling; yet his voice held a note of strain. "Possibly, in a crisis situation – considering the use of those potions on those recovering from bewitchments. You are of course aware that potions alone cannot cure them. One must also isolate them from Dark influence and from strangers of any kind; enlist them in useful work, and encourage vigorous physical exercise such as mountain climbing. The normal course of treatment is six to eight weeks, and for this interval the potions are useful."

"And for someone returning from the Dark?"

Snape let out his breath; when he spoke again his voice was stiff and formal. "As you are well aware, recovery from Dark alliance is a lifetime process. The potions, however, lose their effectiveness after a few months, after which the individual is thrown back upon his own resources."

"I'm sorry," said Hecate softly.

Snape simply looked at her. "If you are entirely finished, we shall proceed to my laboratory," he said finally. They watched through the crack between the hinges as he opened the back door of the classroom.

"Are you still there?" called Hecate toward the front.

"Yes, miss," they answered.

"Would you kindly ask Professor Sinistra to save me a place at the table?" she asked. "I'll be a bit late to supper." She trotted after the scowling Headmaster and followed him through the rear door.

"She knows something's afoot!" murmured Harry. "She wants Snape to know someone else will be looking for her if she doesn't show up for dinner. We'd better follow."

Hermione started walking toward Ravenclaw. "No, I don't think she wants us there, and Snape certainly doesn't. Let's tell Sinistra and see what he says. We can always listen at the stairwell afterwards. And we'll look for her at dinner."

"Maybe she wants us to give him a little rope," said Ron. "See what he might try. She can't do that with us hanging round." Harry nodded glumly, then went to retrieve his books. If she's not at dinner, he thought, I'll go after him myself. I only hope it won't be too late. However, to their relief Hecate was at dinner exactly as expected.

On Wednesday, Harry spent the whole of his last lesson, Transfiguration, watching the classroom hourglass.

"Keeping good time is it, Potter?" Professor McGonagall asked him as he raced for the door at the end. The rest of the class was already trooping off to find Quidditch posters to take to Hogsmeade to be signed.

"It's Collum O'Malley, the Irish seeker," Neville explained. "Everyone wants his autograph now that Ireland are the world champions. Harry, would you mind if I took your Firebolt with me? Not to get it signed or anything, I just mean that if I have it with me, O'Malley might notice me in the crowd and say 'Hello' – it's such a great broom."

"Sure, if Cho isn't using it," said Harry.

"She said I could have it full-time, she wouldn't be needing it anymore," replied Neville.

"Why not? Ravenclaw have got a couple of big matches coming up."

"I don't know," answered Neville, in such an uneasy tone that Harry realised instantly that he knew very well. But before Harry could press him, he edged nervously sideways, and disappeared.

"Ready?" said Ron. "I just saw Hecate heading for Hogsmeade with Madam Pomfrey, and Snape's been gone since morning."

"Right, I've got my notebook," announced Hermione, bustling up.

The door to Hecate's office was unlocked as it always seemed to be and the ginger jar of Floo powder was standing on her desk.

"Same as before, then?" said Harry. He picked up a handful of the powder, threw it into the smouldering fire in the grate and called "Snape's Office!"

Instantly the flames sprang up. But instead of being green, these were red and hot and angry.

"Don't step in there, Harry, you'll be fried to a crisp," warned Ron, grabbing his arm. The flames grew even higher until Harry backed away.

Ron picked up the jar and ran some of the powder through his fingers. "It looks like the stuff Mum buys."

"Put your wand on it and see if it feels enchanted," Hermione told him.

"Sure, if you can tell me what un-enchanted Floo powder ought to feel like. Are you sure you threw it in right?"

"Positive," said Harry. The fire showed no signs of dying down.

"Well, we aren't going to get through there," said Hermione. "What about the actual door? I know a key charm now, if it's locked."

They slipped down to the dungeons and halted in front of the forbidding wooden door that led to Snape's office and storeroom. There was no key in the lock and the door did not budge when Ron gave it a swift kick.

"You didn't really expect that to work, did you?" Hermione asked him.

"Maybe not, but it felt good!"

"Key charm then," said Harry.

Hermione pulled out one of her metal hair clips. "I put this in the lock and it should change shape into a key that'll fit it. It'll only last about ten minutes though." She pushed the hairpin into the lock and said firmly, " _Clavum habeo_ ," and waited. Suddenly she sprang back from the door with a gasp.

"The lock spat it out!" she gasped. The end of the pin was dripping, Harry saw. As he watched, it dissolved into a puddle on the flagstones below them and ran bubbling into a crack.

"Let's take a wild guess and say that Snape's put some enchantments on it," sighed Harry.

Hermione stared at the door. " _Finite Incantatem!_ " she shouted. " _Solvete invocationem!_ "

"You don't really expect that to work, did you?" Ron asked her. He bent forward, pointing his wand, and started to murmur words of closure, testing them as he had done in class.

Hermione looked at the massive nails that pinned the door together. "There must be a way of dis-enchanting it," she muttered. "Maybe..." She leant with her hand on the door and then snatched it away quickly. "It tried to bite me!" she exclaimed, wringing her fingers.

Harry looked closer at the door. The nails where Hermione's hand had been pressed seemed to be wriggling free of the door. Peering closely he saw that each one of them had turned into a small snake. "You should have used your wand," Harry told her. He held the tip of his own over one of the nails that had not moved and sensed only a single metallic ping. Then he moved the wand to where the miniature snake had appeared and felt a sensation rather as if a thin, rough tongue were slithering over his fingers. He took the wand quickly away. One of the snakes hissed at him. "Same to you," Harry hissed back, then thought better of it. "Wait," he whispered gently in Parseltongue. "How about helping us out here, little fellow? Wouldn't you and your friends like to come out and play on the floor?" The snake stuck out its tongue at Harry and spat a final hiss at him before turning back into a nail. Harry snorted. "No need to be so rude," he grumbled.

Ron stepped back and tucked his wand away. "These charms aren't games," he said. "I give up. We might as well say 'Open Sesame'".

They walked back to the common room deep in gloom. "How else can we get in?" said Ron. "There aren't any windows. Where's a secret passage when you need one?" He jammed his hands angrily into his pockets.

 _There is one_ , said a voice at the back of Harry's mind. He concentrated, trying to work out what he was half remembering. The night he had followed Fred and George and had seen Snape talking to the Mirror of Erised – hadn't they said something about a tunnel near Snape's office that they could see on the Marauder's Map? He ran up to the dormitory to fetch it.

"Look" he said, spreading it out so that Hermione and Ron could see. "Here's Snape's office and here's the corridor by the potions dungeon. There's a gap between the two of them according to this. Fred and George noticed it when they borrowed the map. They thought it was new."

"New?" asked Hermione. "Did someone make it?"

"They wouldn't need to, would they?" Harry told her. "It just opened up; like rooms are always dodging around here or corridors suddenly don't go where you think they do."

"I think I'd have noticed a ruddy great hole in the wall going to lessons, Harry," said Ron.

"Not in that spot, though," Hermione told him. "If you think – it's a few steps past the door to the Potions dungeon – that's where the student supply cabinet is."

"So won't Snape have seen it from his office side?"

Harry thought hard. "There was a big cupboard in his office too, wasn't there?" he asked. "It was where we found his potions supply records. It could be in front of the hole on the other side. If we could move both cupboards then we might be able to squeeze through."

"Let's do it, then!" said Ron, jumping up. Harry pulled him back down.

"It's too late this evening. People will see if we're not at dinner and the corridor will be too busy in the daytime. We need a couple of hours at least."

"With exams coming up there'll be people in there late in the evening as well," put in Hermione. "Revising for exams, you know. I'm going to be redoing all Vince's experiments with him as practice."

"After exams then," said Ron. "It'll be several weeks but we can wait. We'll go really late at night. When do exams end?" He pulled out his diary. "This Thursday here will be the soonest. June the first. It'll be a crescent moon. No moonlight to show us up."

At dinner that evening, Harry caught Cho Chang's eye as she sat at the Ravenclaw table. She looked away quickly. I haven't spoken to her really since that day I loaned her the Firebolt thought Harry. He wanted to tell her that in the end he had seen what she had been trying to comfort him with – the knowledge that he could still help Dumbledore even after death. And really, there was no reason why they should not start seeing each other again, and she had, after all, kissed him. But why wasn't she using the Firebolt?

He timed his exit so that they both arrived at the Great Hall's door at the same time.

"'Lo, Cho," he said quickly, before she could squeeze past him or his nerve failed.

"Hello," said Cho, looking at her feet.

"I was wondering if you wanted to go to the April dance with me?" said Harry. What did I ask her that for? he thought to himself. I was saving it in case I couldn't think of anything else to say! And I don't like dancing.

"Someone's already asked me," Cho murmured.

"That's OK," said Harry. "Say 'yes' if you want to."

"I already have," said Cho, looking up.

"So, what's with the Firebolt?" Harry stumbled on.

"Harry...you'll always be my friend," Cho began. "And I really thought we liked each other properly, you know, earlier on. But you've hardly spoken to me recently and well...I thought I shouldn't use it...now."

Harry's heart sank. He has picked up enough from Fred and George to know that it was never a good sign when a girl said that she wanted to be your friend.

"Good – that's what I was going to say," he put in. "Friends; that's fine. So – who're you going to the dance with?"

"Blaise Zabini," said Cho. "You know, he plays seeker for Slytherin."

"Hmm, good player," said Harry with care. And I could beat the flat-footed git any time I wanted to, he thought savagely to himself.

"I can find a friend to go with you to the dance, if you like, Harry," Cho was saying.

"No problem," said Harry, standing back with what he hoped was a casual, man of the world wave of the hand. "There's plenty of people I can ask – I was just checking with you, really, before I asked one of them, and anyway, dancing's not really my scene, and... Well, I'll see you in class."

"See you around, Harry," she said and turned away.

Harry walked back to the Gryffindor common room imagining that every flagstone he trod on was Blaise Zabini's face. I just leave Cho for two seconds and that slimy Slytherin crawls in and grabs her, he told himself.

Pity you haven't bothered to speak to her for most of this year, then, said his conscience, quite unmoved.

He tumbled into the common room and flung himself down on an armchair. Fred and George were sitting by the fire.

"Woman trouble," said George with a grin. "I know that look!" Then he turned back to his brother. "Mate – we promised not to play any more tricks!"

"Not exactly," said Fred. "We promised no more _mean_ tricks. This one is just a practical joke. No one could object!"

George pursed his lips for a moment. "OK, you convinced me. When?"

"Just after exams. Everyone'll be at Hogsmeade."

"What about the first and second years?"

Fred gave him a playful punch in the arm. "If it's good weather they'll all be outside anyway. If it's bad weather, a body bind and memory charm. Piece o' cake. They won't remember a thing."

"I don't know, Fred, I don't think Hecate would like it."

"Who are you going to listen to, Sugar Lips or your own brother? Help me figure out what we need."

"Let's see: Paint, paintbrushes, old clothes, what else? The password!"

Fred chuckled. "It's already taken care of. I went down there yesterday and got the new one." He grimaced. "Chocolate coated Weasleys."

Probably borrowed my cloak without asking, thought Harry grumpily, sinking deeper into his armchair.

"Sods," said George, "we'll get them for that one. Look, Fred, if we buy the paint all at once someone may get suspicious."

"OK, some this weekend, some later. We'll look for more than one store too."

Whatever it is they're up to, thought Harry, I hope they get Zabini.

* * *

 **About 10 chapters to go at this point. Please review, and follow! I appreciate your comments and con-crit.**

 **I'll be traveling for the next few days so updates may be delayed. - Pogonia**


	34. Return of the Dark Lord, part 1

Chapter 10: Voldemort's Return

Harry was still brooding over Cho and Zabini a month later as he sat alone in the Three Broomsticks, nursing a pint of butterbeer. Ron and Hermione had gone to see Ravenclaw versus Slytherin in the Quidditch championship that Saturday afternoon.

"It should be a good match, they're both battling for second place in the league," Ron had said.

But Harry had refused to go. The thought of Cho; Cho, whom he had been so stupid as to lose; Cho _not_ on the Firebolt, Cho and Zabini blowing each other kisses across the Quidditch field...

"Don't want to see that!" he told Ron grumpily. "Can you imagine the two of them as Seekers? 'You take the snitch, dear!' 'No, no, darling, you saw it first!' 'I know, darling, let's catch it together!'"

"Yeah, because we all know how much Slytherins hate winning!" said Ron with a grin. "Get over it, mate!"

"And Cho always does her best!" said Hermione. "She's not some stupid bimbo, she..."

But Harry was unmovable. Ron and Hermione had agreed to meet him later in the pub. "Suppose I'll have to listen if you want to talk about the game," he told them.

His two friends arrived at four o'clock with Hecate in tow.

"I'll get the drinks," she said as they walked over to Harry's corner table. "Then you can tell me how it went."

"I'll get them," said Ron, blushing furiously. "Before the post match rush. Ravenclaw won, by the way."

"You didn't see the game, then, Professor?" Harry asked her.

"No, I had someone who wanted to talk to me, urgently: in fact, Harry..."

"You missed a good contest," interrupted Ron, putting three butterbeers and a small cocktail with a twirling umbrella in it down on the table.

"Butterbeer would have done, Ron," smiled Hecate as he gave it to her.

"Millicent Bulstrode was evil for Slytherin, Ravenclaw could hardly get near the Quaffle. Then Zabini got hit on the shoulder by a Bludger and had to retire hurt."

"So Malfoy came on, grinning all over his face," put in Hermione.

"Montague wasn't smiling," said Ron. "You could see he was telling Malfoy not to do anything clever, just look for the Snitch..."

"But of course, he has to start trying to do funny stuff... I think he was trying to do that backflip you did, Harry!"

"So, Cho just played along, she could see what he was up to, biding her time until the Snitch turned up..."

"She went after it with him, faster and faster – then when he tried to flip over and catch it, she just let him – and he just flew on upside down, he couldn't get the snitch, he looked so stupid..."

"And Cho just floated over and caught it like it was a chocoball."

"Montague was so angry," said Hermione. "He was shouting at Malfoy, 'You're like a bad luck charm for this team!'"

"He wasn't much happier with Zabini," observed Ron.

"Well, he was cheering Cho for most of the match," said Hermione.

"He wasn't really angry that she won, then?" asked Harry wistfully.

"No, he was going 'Cho-CHANG! Cho-CHANG!' along with the Ravenclaws. He wasn't even stammering."

"I guess he likes her, then," said Harry with a sniff.

"He's a Slytherin," put in Hecate with a smile. "He knows about wanting to win."

"The person you had to talk to, Miss," said Harry, suddenly remembering. "Was it Dumbledore?"

Hecate lowered her voice. "It was: a leaving message, Harry. He told me that he was going on a long journey, to find friends from his younger days. He won't be able to talk to me for some time – perhaps never. He had a final message for you, though."

Harry leant forward.

"He said that it was important that you trust Professor Snape. He said that he trusted him and that your father had trusted him, too, Harry. So you must do the same. Voldemort is very near and you need allies and protectors."

"Your father, Harry?" asked Hermione, curiously.

"Thank you, professor," said Harry and swallowed a mouthful of butterbeer. As it slipped into his stomach with a warm glow, he felt absolute certainty coming over him. This was the sign from Dumbledore that he had wanted, and one that had not endangered Hecate when she brought it.

"I'll get the next round," said Hecate, standing up and going to the bar.

"There!" whispered Harry to Ron and Hermione as soon as she had gone. "Now we know that Dumbledore doesn't trust Snape!"

"But Hecate just said..." began Ron uncertainly.

"My father _never_ trusted Snape. Dumbledore said that because he knew I'd realise that he would never say anything so stupid and expect me to believe it. It must mean that we were right to suspect Snape!"

"All right now," asked Hecate, coming back with three butterbeers. "You realise what Dumbledore meant by that message, Harry?"

"Yes, Professor, I know what he was trying to tell me," Harry said.

Hecate smiled her approval. Then, checking her watch, she jumped up in alarm. "Oh, my – I have to get to the post office before it closes. Thanks for the cocktail, Ron." She nodded goodbye and hurried out of the pub's door.

"There's Vincent," said Hermione, spotting Crabbe standing by the bar. She waved her hand frantically in his direction.

"He won't come over here, not in front of Malfoy and Pansy – see?" Ron told her, pointing to where the two Slytherins were sitting on the opposite side of the pub. Malfoy was obviously explaining to a sympathetic Pansy just how he had been cheated of the Snitch and victory, with the aid of the umbrella in her cocktail and a large lemon slice.

Crabbe stared into space at first as if he could no more see Hermione than a flobberworm could. But then, as she waved more energetically, he heaved himself off the bar and plodded over – reluctantly, it seemed to Harry.

"Did you see the match, Vince?" Hermione asked, squeezing up along the bench she was sitting on and patting the space beside her. "Or were you studying?"

"I was there," said Crabbe; he did not sit down. "Draco was robbed, you know."

"Oh, come on, Cho Chang won fair and square!" protested Hermione. "Anyone could see that. Malfoy shouldn't have tried to be so clever. You're just saying that because you're a Slytherin."

"Well," retorted Crabbe, "You're just down on him because you're a – "

For a dreadful moment Harry thought that Crabbe's lips were forming an 'M'.

" – because you're a Gryffindor," Crabbe finished. "He was my friend before you were, you know."

Hermione's face flushed. "I do know. Anyway, do you want to do some revising tonight? We really should go back over charms and..."

"Give it a rest, Hermione," said Crabbe. He shook his head as if it felt muzzy inside. Then he turned and walked back to hover near to where Malfoy and Pansy were sitting.

Harry watched for a few moments as Crabbe stood by their table, evidently waiting for Malfoy to notice him; finally, Malfoy turned away and made a great show of holding his nose to make Pansy giggle. Crabbe lumbered out of the door on his own, his shoulders hunched.

"I don't know why he was like that," sniffed Hermione. Harry could see that her eyes were damp.

"It's the love potion – it's wearing off," Ron told her. "We did try to warn you that it wouldn't last. He'll be the same old Crabbe in a few days time, I bet – worse, I should think, because he'll have to be really foul for Malfoy to take him back. Forget him, that's the best you can do. All this love stuff – not worth it."

"Yeah," said Harry with conviction. "Whether it's a potion or not. Just don't bother. Better to stay with your mates."

He gave Hermione's shoulder a quick squeeze and she smiled at him in a watery way. "I'll go and buy some chips," he said and set off for the bar.

Monday evening found Harry in the common room studying with Hermione, Ron and Neville. "I'm glad Potions is over. That was a nightmare," he said, rummaging in his book bag for his Charms notebook. A steady rain beat against the windows as thunder rumbled outside.

Neville nodded. "Yeah – and thanks, Harry, for stopping me taking that asphodel and wormwood potion. I'd have missed all my other exams. Did you see Pansy? One sniff and she just about keeled over."

"The smell alone would do that," chuckled Harry. "Wormwood, ugh."

"The written questions were the worst," said Hermione.

Ron scratched his head. "Yeah, why _do_ the size of chopped ingredients matter? All I could think of was that it's more work to cut them fine, and that couldn't have been right."

"Oh, that's easy," said Hermione, "they cook faster when they're small."

"The stuff inside dissolves faster, too," put in Neville.

The three other students looked at Neville with new respect. "Then what did you put for the question on the infusions?" Ron asked slowly.

Neville looked confused. "There was a question on infusions?"

Hermione rubbed her forehead with a finger and began to quote. "Describe similarities and differences between an herbal infusion made up in a single volume of spring water, an infusion made up in one volume of alcohol, and an infusion made up in two volumes of water and reduced by boiling to one volume."

"That's the one," said Ron, as Neville nodded. "You mean you _got_ that?"

"Well, yeah," said Neville, awkwardly. "That one wasn't memorization, just thinking things through."

"So tell us," ordered Hermione, picking up her quill. But Neville's explanation was cut short by Fred and George's arrival through the portrait hole.

"Ready for the next exams, boys?" called Fred.

Ron scowled. "Why are you so cheerful?"

"Because we're done with detention, and soggy Hogsmeade has opened its arms to us," replied George, waltzing across the common room.

Fred grinned at his brother. "Not to mention its shops. How many weeks' pocket money did we spend this weekend?"

Lee Jordan threw an arm over the back of his chair by the fire and regarded them quizzically. "You did? When I saw Zev Zonko at the pub, he said he hadn't seen you two all day. Don't worry, I picked up some fireworks for you just in case you get another detention before the end of term feast."

Fred stretched and yawned. "Really, Lee, old boy, why would we do anything to deserve a detention? Anyway, we've no time for pranks, we're helping Sugar Lips get ready for the Defense final on Wednesday."

Ron looked up from his book. "You are? Really? What's going to be on it?"

Fred pretended not to see Hermione's frown. "What do you think, George, should we tell him?"

"Sure, why not?" said the other twin. He pulled a page out his pocket and began to read. "OK, Ron, are you getting this? There's only going to be one question in the practicum but it has several parts, and it's mostly on spell detection and counterspells."

Ron nodded eagerly, concentrating on his brother.

"Here's what you have to revise for: invisibility and darkness spells, the Animate spell, aging spells and rejuvenation. Also – you have to know a pear when you see one."

"A pear?" asked Ron suspiciously.

"Oh, give over, George!" Hermione broke in. "You're just reading to him from last week's class handout."

"He is?" asked Ron, abashed. Hermione opened a binder and handed him the paper. He scowled at them.

"She's also letting us do the very last bit of the written part. You'll like it," said Fred with a grin.

"Anything to do with chocolate?" asked Ron pointedly.

"I think we've given enough hints," said Fred to George. "Let's go stir things up a bit in the dorm."

"Stir things up? Oh, yeah." George began following his twin to the stairway, but stopped midway at another table, where Lavender and Parvati were giggling. "What's new in Divination, ladies?" he asked.

"Just some charts," answered Lavender, and beckoned him down for a closer look. He stood up, guffawing.

"That's Trelawney for you," he chuckled. "Hey, anyone here born July 31, 1980, in Godric's Hollow?"

"Oh, fudge," muttered Harry. "What is it now, more death omens?" he called.

"Nothing so tragic," Parvati called back. "Just the story of your life this week."

Ignoring Hermione's scowl, Harry went over to look at the diagrams littering their table. "Will I pass my exams?" he asked.

"No problem there," replied Lavender, "but it looks as if life gets interesting on Thursday."

"I hope so," remarked George, "seeing as you'll all be in Hogsmeade that afternoon. What happens to him Thursday?"

Parvati ran her finger down a list. "Your enemy separates you from your friend, or maybe it's friends. You spill something valuable. You go to bed early, and you sleep in the sunlight underground." She wrinkled her nose. "I know that last part doesn't make sense, but we're not finished yet. Friday's better – someone who loves you will come, and you'll get to see them."

"And will you two come and see me?" asked George, trying to sound charming.

Ignoring him, Lavender jabbed a pencil into a chart. "That can't be right, Parvati – that's Gemini, he's got two enemies there."

"No, no, the crescent moon crosses it, it blocks the vibrations, so there's just one, see?" Harry turned away from the debate. Pure rubbish. He'd never been more glad about not taking Divination.

"Free at last!" Harry told Ron as they left their final test, History of Magic. "I just wish the old bedsheet had a sense of humor, like Hecate."

Ron chuckled. As a joke, Takushiki had stuck them to their seats at the end of the exam. "I've enjoyed having you in class so much that I want you to stay," she had said, before she let them go. Harry wondered if the sticking charm had been George and Fred's idea. Clever of her to let them have the last word in the joke department, he thought; they'll be her friends for life.

Draco Malfoy was standing outside the Great Hall holding court. "Thank goodness that's over," he was saying. "Exams only matter if you've got no breeding, anyway. That's why Mudbloods like Granger do well at them."

Goyle and Pansy sniggered. Harry caught sight of Crabbe lurking in the background.

"Wait 'til they set exams in being a smirking git, Malfoy, you'll do great," Ron told him.

"Off to look for Sickles and Knuts in the gutters down in Hogsmeade, Weasley?" answered Malfoy. "That's the only way you'll afford a drink to celebrate. Still, road-sweeper's probably where you're heading – it'll be good practice for you."

"If I wanted to sweep up rubbish, I'd stop here, wouldn't I, Malfoy?" said Ron.

"Just ignore him, Draco," said Pansy. "Tell us about your father's treat."

Draco turned a disdainful shoulder on Harry and his friends. "It's a surprise," he said to Pansy. "Even I don't know what it is, exactly, but Father said I could ask two friends – so I'm asking you, Pansy and Gregory." His eyes flickered to Crabbe for a moment. "Who else would I ask? We have to stay at the school now and wait for it; it's to be delivered this afternoon."

"And not go down to Hogsmeade and celebrate like everyone else?" pouted Pansy.

"This will be much better than drinking stupid butterbeer – much more grown up and expensive!" Malfoy promised her. "We don't want to be down there with a lot of riff-raff like Potter and his gang. Come on, let's go and wait in the common room."

The three sped off. Behind them, Crabbe shrugged and walked out of the main school door into the bright sunlight.

"Just when you think things can't get any better," said Ron. "No more exams, end of term, the first decent weather in a week, and no Draco."

"I'm going to catch Vincent up," said Hermione. "I want to know what he put for question three. I just know he'll have mixed up the second and fourth goblin rebellions..."

Ron rolled his eyes and began to follow her. "Coming, Harry?"

"Just going to get some money," Harry told him. "I'll catch you up."

"Off to Hogsmeade, Potter?" said Professor McGonagall, coming out of the Great Hall where she had been supervising their last exam. "Have some fun and enjoy yourself, you deserve it."

"Whether he deserves it is debatable. He will not be going to Hogsmeade until his work is done," said a soft voice behind Harry.


	35. Return of the Dark Lord, part 2

"Headmaster?" said Professor McGonagall.

"Potter still has a Potions lesson to complete for me," explained Snape. "The one you decided to make a dramatic exit from, Potter, if you remember?"

Harry did remember; it was the day that he had met Rodney in the forest and received his gift from Fawkes.

"You can go to Hogsmeade when you have finished that," Snape was saying.

"Really, Headmaster," said Professor McGonagall. "Does that have to be done now? Harry has completed his exams. This can surely wait."

"It cannot," said Snape. "He agreed to make up the lesson at my convenience, not his own. Potter?"

Professor McGonagall wheeled stiffly and began to march toward the marble stairs. As she reached them, she turned back.

"As far as I can see, Headmaster;" she said in a clipped voice, "the position is this: when I say that Potter cannot go to Hogsmeade, you say that he may; and when I say that he may go to Hogsmeade, you say that he cannot. You must explain the reasoning to me one day." And with that she was gone. Harry watched her disappear up the stairs with a sinking feeling. Where would Ron and Hermione be now? Ordering their first drinks, and lunch? Wondering where he had got to? Saying, "He'll turn up soon, no need to go and look?"

"My office, Potter," said Snape. "Now."

You really love every minute of this, don't you? thought Harry to himself as he followed Snape's billowing black cloak down the same corridor where Malfoy and his friends had disappeared a few minutes before.

Harry followed the Potions master to the dungeon and stood aside as he unlocked it. In a day it had become unrecognizable. He was astounded to see the tables gone, and the old leaden sinks with gryffon heads on the faucets. Long, low cardboard boxes marked "Cabinet" were stacked by the outside wall, topped with smaller boxes and several stainless steel sinks. Soon his curiosity got the better of his resentment. "What's going on here, sir?" he asked Snape.

"Construction of a modern laboratory," said Snape shortly. "The equipment had been stored in my office. You may work there." He unlocked the door and stood aside. Harry entered hesitantly, feeling the air in the office thick with enchantments. Surreptitiously he touched his wand, aghast to find it as unresponsive as a piece of kindling. I'm defenseless, he thought, prickles running down his spine.

Snape was gesturing to a table full of materials that had been laid out by the small sink under the tiny office window. Perched on the windowsill a fierce-looking owl appeared to be standing guard.

"The vial." Harry looked up, but Snape was speaking to the owl. It tucked its beak under its wing and pulled out a glass vial, which it dropped into Snape's hand. He lifted the lid from a bain-marie and dropped the vial onto a small cork tray floating inside. "Flobberworm slime, from Mr. Crabbe's exam revisions. If you waste it..." He lifted the lid from a bucket on the floor. Inside several dozen flobberworms inched over their lettuce leaves.

Snape checked his watch. "I will return in three hours to look in on you. Do not touch any of my personal belongings, and above all, do not leave this room."

"Why, Headmaster?" asked Harry, feeling more and more uneasy.

"Because I say so." Snape strode back into the laboratory followed closely by the swooping owl. He slammed the door closed behind him and turned the key in the lock. Harry heard his footsteps move away across the gritty floor and fade down the corridor. He checked both doors and the tiny window. All were locked. He drew a deep breath. Here he was, trapped by a Dark wizard who hated him, alone and without a working wand.

Oh, cut it out, he told himself. If Snape uses magic to get rid of me, Hecate will find out, or Hermione and Ron. He wouldn't dare. This must be a trick; he probably wants me to break out the window and leave so he can expel me. "Well, I'm staying!" he said aloud. And while I'm here, he thought, I'll have a go at transcribing the rest of that potion. No need to come back here at night and risk Filch catching us. Snape doesn't know the favor he's doing me. Quickly and efficiently, he weighed and ground the dry ingredients and put the sliced mountain yam to stew in the small gold cauldron with the salt of Rochelle and the verjus. When they came to a boil, he turned to the bookcase.

Harry pulled the chair over as he had done before. Slipping on a pair of plastic gloves he found in the sink, he pulled down the old spellbook from the shelf, surprised at how little it was affecting him. Swiftly he copied down the first page of the Doomspell potion and replaced the book. He had just tucked the paper into his pocket when he heard footsteps outside the door. "Ron? Hermione? Is that you?" he called.

Suddenly Harry's scar felt like someone had given it a hard pinch. He wheeled to face the door and saw a cloaked figure stepping through the wooden boards. He knew in an instant that it must be Voldemort, though this man was middle-aged, broad-shouldered and square-jawed, with curly gray hair. He looked nothing like Tom Riddle or like the tall, thin figure in his dreams. The mocking quality of the voice had not changed, though.

"Not at Hogsmeade celebrating, young Potter?" he asked smoothly. "Lucius informed me that you would be there, and I have wasted considerable time trying to find you. I should have known you would be here, where Professor Snape can keep an eye on you. Very efficient of him. I think he hates you almost as much as I do."

It's all true, then, thought Harry. Snape locked me in here to make me easy prey for you. Aloud he said, "Where is Pettigrew? Where are those invisible guys?"

"Oh, them; they have gone to get the key from Filch. Peter let me in before they left." He threw back his head, and the high, cold laugh of Harry's nightmares reverberated off the stone walls. "I thought we might have a little chat before they return."

Harry's hand moved to the pocket of his robe, but Voldemort shook his head, his mouth twisting into a smile. "Surely you know an enchantment to prevent the use of magic within a room. Until the door opens, you can't curse me and I can't curse you. But after that..." He laughed again. "Peter has begged me to kill you right away and take your powers. Or I should rather say _my_ powers? You took them from me, Potter, and I have waited a long while to have them back."

"I hope you choke on them," said Harry hotly. Could Voldemort be telling the truth? His scar was barely smarting. But then again, the Dark wizards were master liars.

"Still, I can wait a bit longer for those powers," continued Voldemort with relish, rubbing his hands together and looking fixedly at Harry, "...if indeed I need them at all. Perhaps it will be better to keep you alive for a while, to feed my Dementors." He smiled again, and Harry shivered. It was as if a lump of ice had slipped into his stomach. "The ones my old master bred in the camps are growing weak, so I have begun to make new ones. Better ones. They have grown and flourished on the death terror of the Squibs who gave me their power – but now they need a wizard's fear to achieve their perfection: the empty eyes that perceive the life force, the mouth that can taste it and suck it out of their victim...and something new: voices. Shall I introduce you?"

A chorus of low moans sounded from outside the door. Harry's throat clenched in panic. He could not imagine a worse fate than the one Voldemort had in store for him. Footsteps, and the jingling of keys, followed the moaning.

"Yes, I shall do that," mused Voldemort, still staring at him. "Bind your tongue, and send them every day to visit you, perhaps a few times a day, until they have grown tall, and strong... and hungry. Voracious." He lingered on the word. Terrified as he was, Harry could not help thinking that Voldemort had planned the speech in advance.

"Then I shall let them have you," Voldemort went on leisurely, lowering his voice. "Or perhaps by then, you will have joined me, and we will let them have someone else. Professor Snape, for instance. You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

"I'll never join you!" cried Harry. "I'll die first!" He pulled out his wand, and finding it still dead, flung it onto Snape's desk. Voldemort simply laughed. Arsenic, thought Harry, nightshade, cyanide, acid – this place must be full of poisons. If magic won't work maybe something else will. Maybe I can take him with me.

"How is the door coming, Peter?" called Voldemort cheerfully.

"Half of the keys to go, my lord; the old Squib had around a hundred." Harry recognized Pettigrew's oily whine.

"And our Dementors?"

"Right behind me, my lord."

Voldemort pushed the sleeves of his robe up, revealing powerful forearms. He took a step toward Harry, who retreated back toward the wall. Another step, and Harry backed into the cabinet. Reaching behind him, he grabbed a jar and flung it toward Voldemort. It missed him, knocking over the bain-marie and dousing the burner. He threw another and another as Voldemort advanced on him, chuckling darkly. He sidestepped and found himself next to the cabinet, pressed up against the other locked door. Suddenly he heard across the room the unmistakable sound of a key turning in a lock. As Voldemort glanced toward the noise Harry saw his chance. He slid his fingers between the cabinet and the wall and pulled with all his might. Slowly the tall case toppled, jars sliding off the shelves as it fell. Voldemort's mouth opened in horror and he turned to run, but not in time. The heavy cabinet hit him in the shoulder and knocked him backward, pinning his legs.

Harry glanced at the wall. There was the passageway, the size of a small window, the unpainted wood of the supply cabinet showing through on the other side of the stone wall. Harry scrambled inside and pushed, hard, with his feet. With a terrific crash the cabinet fell over and Harry slipped out into the corridor.

The moment his feet touched the floor the pain smashed into him, knocking him down and nearly blinding him. He struggled to his feet and began to stumble away from the laboratory toward the stairwell. A blast of cold bit into him and he looked up to see a dementor of the same kind he had found in Godric's Hollow. It was rounding the corner toward him. He reached inside his robe for his wand before realizing it was still in Snape's office. He feinted right and sped past on the left, into the stairwell. Another dementor hung there, a few stairs above him, its awful claws reaching for him. Harry doubled back and ran downstairs to the second level of the dungeon. I'll go up those stairs that Crabbe used, he told himself. As he reached the bottom of the staircase he put on a burst of speed and sprinted past the Slytherin serpent to the other corner stairwell.

He looked up the stairs, and what he saw there made the bottom drop out of his stomach. On the landing Pettigrew was waiting for him, flanked by two more dementors. "Get him!" cried Pettigrew excitedly, pointing at Harry. The dementors' claws came up and they slouched downstairs toward him.

Head pounding, Harry fled back the way he had come. The pain in his head worsened with every step. The other two dementors loomed in front of him, gliding toward him, unstoppable. Behind them, his robe covered in chemicals and flakes of glass, Voldemort raised his wand and muttered. Harry was trapped.

He blinked and shook his head, trying to think clearly through the shooting pain and rising fog. Suddenly something warm and soft smashed into his cheek and his hip. It was wand-rope, black and sticky, which wound around his mouth and pinned his arms to his body. He tried once more to run and fell heavily on the mossy stone floor of the corridor.

Then the moaning dementors were on him, clinging to his robe sleeves, scrabbling their awful hands over his body and hair. Every icy touch sent him into violent shivers. The very air was freezing in his lungs. Panic seized him, and he retched, the wand rope tightening cruelly with each movement.

"Remember, my lord, he saved my life," he heard Pettigrew cry, far away. "I beg you, Master, kill him here. For my sake."

Voldemort laughed again, throwing back his curly head. "Not good enough, Peter. I'm enjoying this." He shoved his heavy shoe under Harry's neck and lifted him up a few inches. "Good work, Potter. They're coming along nicely." He let Harry drop, and the stone floor smashed into the back of his head. When he could see again he was looking directly into the face of a dementor. Cold poured off it into his bones. Its lipless slit of a mouth stretched open, mewing. Now he could see eye sockets forming, and the pores that would be nostrils stretching open. The other Dementors crowded in around him, and Harry began to hear his parents' voices.

"Don't let your mother hear you crying," said James, his kind young face looming over Harry. "It's not so bad, daddy had some just a little while ago."

"Quiet, sweetie, come to mama," said Lily's voice. He felt himself being lifted onto her soft, round shoulder. Her fragrant hair brushed his cheek. She was still talking. "James, what's the matter? You look pale."

"I'm all right," he said heavily. "I tuned up the broomsticks; they're by the back door. Let's go. I still can't believe he'd do it."

"Next time we'll use Sirius. Come on." Harry felt his mother dip and rise again as she pulled his father along. "James – Oh, James," she exclaimed in dismay. "Did you take that potion Severus brought? You did, didn't you? Damn! I should have poured it down the sink." His mother was running now. Across her shoulder he could see his father following, glancing backward at a noise that sounded like splintering wood.

"Desperate times..." he panted. "Might be Harry's only chance."

"Did you give it to him then?" she called.

James opened his mouth to speak, but a huge explosion drowned out his words. His mother stumbled. Harry felt himself falling, and suddenly he was back on the icy stone floor.

"Do it now, Master," pleaded Pettigrew. "It'll destroy the school, and all the teachers. Think of it - some of your strongest opponents, gone forever. We daren't wait much longer; someone will come along."

"Very well," replied Voldemort with a curt nod. "Dementors, retreat."

The hooded forms moved back and the cold feeling began to lift, but Harry's head was still awash with pain. He struggled and looked around frantically, but could move nothing more than his eyes. In a deep, resonant voice, Voldemort intoned the first lines of the death curse.

Gradually Harry's fingers and toes began to feel heavy and warm. The stone wall next to him creaked and began to sag. Huge, trembling gray drops ran out of it like sweat and splashed hissing onto the floor. Above him the windows in the top of the bay shattered, raining slivers of glass. Voldemort continued to chant. A pillar of the bay crumbled, then another. With a dreadful groan, the entire bay toppled in on itself and the huge stones of the archways thundered down. Bright sunlight flooded the corridor, along with the smell of flowers and fresh earth. Voldemort kept chanting.

The peaceful numb feeling crept up Harry's knees and thighs; he felt his shoulders relaxing, and his heartbeat gradually slowing down. Resist! he thought, resist! He gasped for breath, willing his heart to keep beating. The six dark figures swam before his eyes.

All at once, he heard shouting and the sound of footsteps. Just above him the section of stone wall that was the entrance to the Slytherin common room burst open and the Weasley twins bounded into the hallway, with Draco Malfoy, Pansy and Goyle on their heels. All five tumbled over Harry's immobile body and landed on top of him in a pile of arms and legs. Distracted by the interruption, Voldemort broke off his chant. A shout of rage broke from his lips. Harry felt a shock wave and saw a fireball burst out of Voldemort's wand. It exploded over the students. They jerked violently and went still.

Harry strained his eyes to see what had happened. He was pinned under the heavy bulk of Goyle and at least one other body. His eyebrows felt as if they were singed away, his clothes were scorched, and by the agony in his side at every breath, he knew that at least one rib was broken. Through a gap between two bodies, he saw Voldemort writhing on his knees, screaming noiselessly. Pettigrew bent over him, tearing at his robe, which had caught fire. Harry's ears ached intolerably and everything around him was strangely silent. As if in slow motion, he saw Voldemort collapse to the floor, and Pettigrew struggle to lift his fallen master onto his back. He rummaged in his pocket, flung a great handful of Floo powder onto the burning robe, and vanished with his burden. Immediately the pain in Harry's scar disappeared, but the dementors' chill began to envelop him again as they searched blindly through the bay and corridor.

Harry looked around again. Friends, enemies – all of them lay still and broken. He was surrounded by death – and now, one of the dementors had turned toward him. The others were following. Harry filled his lungs and tried to shout, though he could hear nothing. Then something moved on top of him. It was Draco Malfoy, who rolled away, then staggered to his feet. Behind the blood on his face he was white with terror, sobbing and coughing from the smoke, his clothes in rags. He clutched one arm to his body. Looking backward at the pile of bodies and the approaching dementors, he cried out soundlessly and fled. Harry watched him stumble away as a tall, dark-robed figure rushed up, its mouth open and shouting. It was Snape.

The Headmaster skidded to a stop a few feet away. His black eyes glittered. Harry watched his hand dart inside his robes and draw out his wand. A silvery shape – a human shape, but whose he could not tell - burst from it and swept past him, long hair trailing behind it. The dementors fled. Then slowly, hesitantly, Snape advanced toward the bodies. More figures appeared behind him, running. There was Sinistra, and McGonagall, and Sprout, and Takushiki. Flitwick came panting after them, wringing his hands. He pointed his wand and five stretchers materialized. Grimly Snape and McGonagall began to lift the bodies onto them. Harry saw with relief that Pansy was moving. Finally they stood over him and he looked up into McGonagall's stern face, now tear-streaked. Her mouth moved, but he couldn't hear her words. Takushiki bent over him with her wand, cutting the ropes around his face and neck. At last he could breathe freely. He looked up at her; she was trying to tell him something. "I can't hear any more, miss," he said, his own voice inaudible to him. She squeezed his hand, then let go as the stretchers began to float away, gathering speed.

Ahead of him Sinistra was sitting on the steps with Draco, pressing a deep blue handkerchief to the wounded boy's head. As Harry's stretcher passed, he lifted the handkerchief and brushed back Draco's hair. Harry saw the look of shock on Sinistra's face and the question in Draco's eyes as he lifted trembling fingers to his forehead. They both stared at Harry, and then Harry saw it: Draco bore a lightning-shaped wound identical to his own.

Up and up the stairways they zoomed, and along corridors where the portraits gaped in horror at the passing stretchers. They slowed down only upon arriving at the infirmary. There, Flitwick guided each student onto an examination table and dissolved the stretchers. A brilliant green flash caught Harry's eye and his heart jumped into his throat – but it was only the emerald flame of Floo powder. Snape tumbled out of the fireplace, his face drawn and his lips pressed tightly together.

A moment later McGonagall appeared. She pulled her whirling robes free of the flame and ran over to the table where Pomfrey bent over one of the Weasley twins, her fingers pressed to his neck, tapping his chest with her wand. At last the body on the table gave a dreadful shudder and started to move. Harry could tell they were talking – McGonagall's mouth was moving, then Pomfrey's, but he could not hear a sound. He tore his eyes away toward a movement at the other side of the room. What he saw there confirmed his worst fears. One bulky form lay covered with a sheet, and as he watched, Flitwick dropped the end of a second sheet over a still, red head. Standing on the chair, his head bowed, he looked even older and tinier than usual.

Oh, no, thought Harry, not a Weasley, not one of the twins. He squeezed his eyes shut, feeling the tears running down his face into the pillow. And the other one must be Goyle. Goyle and one of the twins. When would it stop? Would it ever stop?

Sometime later Madam Pomfrey appeared over Harry. She reversed the body-bind spell, mended his broken rib with a nudge from her wand, and helped him sit up. In her hand he saw the vial of phoenix tears and a tiny paintbrush. It took only a trace in each ear, and sound came rushing back. "Lie down, now," she told him, but he struggled back up.

"No…What about the twins?" he croaked.

She bent close to him, putting her hand on his shoulder, and when she spoke her voice was low. "Professor McGonagall is with Fred over there. And George..." Her glance darted to the other side of the room. "I'm sorry, Harry. There wasn't anything we could do for George."

What will this do to the Weasleys? wondered Harry helplessly. He looked over toward the two low forms, and saw that Draco Malfoy must have come in. Ghostly pale, perched on the end of a table, Malfoy was shivering violently despite the blankets around his shoulders. Harry dropped his head and arms onto his knees. Now Goyle's dead, Malfoy's all alone, thought Harry. He looks like I felt in the forest last winter. I wouldn't wish that on my worst enemy. His memory flashed back to Fawkes in the armchair by Hagrid's cold fireplace. He raised his head.

"Madam Pomfrey?" he called softly. She came over to him, followed by a scowling Snape. "About Malfoy, I mean... Aren't you going to give him some phoenix tears?"

"First the Headmaster and now you," she burst out irritably. "He's already had three drops. Can't you see they don't work? That head wound'll have to close on its own."

"Not there," he croaked. "Over his heart. I know. From the day we brought them in to you." How could he make her understand? It was just too hard to explain.

Pomfrey looked uncertainly at Snape, who snorted. "Oh, all right," she snapped, then bustled over to Malfoy. When she left him a moment later, his shivering had subsided and the color was returning to his face.

Harry closed his eyes and dropped his forehead onto his knees again. His ears were still ringing, and he ached where the wand-ropes had bitten into his arms and legs. Odors of rock dust, smoke and mold rose from his clothing, mingled with the sharp reek of acid, and for a moment he thought he would be sick. He felt Pomfrey move up beside him once more. "You're very lucky, Potter," she muttered to him as she grasped his arm and eased him off the table. Dizzy and exhausted, he allowed her to steer him across the floor to a curtained alcove and pull off his robes. He sank down heavily on a hospital bed. "Now, listen. The other Weasley pupils are on the way. You can see them tomorrow. For now, you have to sleep off those spells." Pomfrey picked up a bottle from the bedside table and poured a glassful; Harry recognized the clear liquid. He drank it down without protest. A warm darkness whirled in upon him; the last thing he remembered seeing was the crescent moon floating outside in the night sky. And then he slept.


	36. Return of the Dark Lord, part 3

The next morning Harry was awakened by footsteps. Snape's footsteps, he thought, and knew he was right when he heard Snape's cold, soft voice telling Madam Pomfrey that a Ministry detective wished to see her in half an hour. Harry sat up and drank some tepid water from the bedside jug. During the night Pomfrey had folded his clothes and left them on the chair. He went through the pockets quickly, finding to his relief that they had not been searched. When he found the copy he had made from Snape's spellbook, he folded it small and stuffed it into the toe of his sneaker. Soon afterwards Pomfrey entered with a napkin-covered tray. Sandwiches and pumpkin juice. How long had he slept?

"How is Fred?" he asked her. "And Ron?" She set the tray on his table and walked him to the bathroom, explaining that the Weasley children and Pansy were with their families. A flannel, towel and clean nightshirt were on the counter next to the sink. She settled herself on a folding chair just outside and talked to him through the door while he washed as best he could.

"Any chemical burns?" she asked him. "You left that dungeon a proper mess. Sure you didn't get anything on you?"

"Nermh," grunted Harry through a mouthful of toothpaste. He wondered how many points Snape would take from Gryffindor for destroying his office.

"Still, you'll have to stay another day, you and Malfoy," she said. "Those were strong Dark spells on you, bad enough to kill, and both of you got more than your share. We're not taking any chances with a relapse. Now, if you need anything when I'm gone, you can wait, or ring for Filch to get me," she told him as he opened the door. "I don't know how long the Ministry fellow will keep me."

"May I have the curtains open?" he asked her. "It's awfully small in here with them shut. And can my friends visit? And I want to talk with the Weasleys before they leave," he said in a rush, knowing uneasily that he had no idea what he could say to them.

"I'll leave word for Hermione," she said. "Now eat." A few feet away, she whisked the curtains back from Malfoy's bed, brought him a stack of magazines, and left, adjusting her robes around her hips. _Quidditch Illustrated_ , read Harry, squinting. Wish I'd thought to ask for one of those. His own table drawer contained only back issues of Witch Weekly and a battered copy of _Gadding with Ghouls_. He shut it, and curled up again under the covers, trying to think his way through the events of the previous day.

Presently he heard footsteps – Snape's again. They stopped by his bed. He felt a poke in the shoulder.

"You're not asleep, Potter. Get up. You too Malfoy – get that magazine off your face." Snape pulled a stool up between the two beds and perched himself on top like a lean black hawk waiting to seize its prey.

"Now that I have your attention," he announced, "I want to know precisely what happened yesterday. Leave nothing out. All details are important." He fixed his glittering eyes on Harry.

Under Snape's concentrated stare, Harry explained how Voldemort had walked through the door of the potions laboratory; how he had pushed the cabinet over onto his attacker and then escaped through the passageway; about the blank-faced Dementors who had chased him, and Voldemort's wand-rope and chant. After making Harry go through the story several times, Snape cut him off abruptly and asked if there was anything more.

He probably knows already, thought Harry, his stomach sinking. "I, er, looked in one of your potion notebooks," he confessed. "The one you brought to class earlier this year."

Snape's eyes flickered. Was it surprise? Relief? He could read nothing from Snape's voice, which was as haughty as ever. And right on cue, the twisted, sarcastic smile. "More rule-breaking, then, Potter? Whatever did you find?"

"Your bookmark. But the recipe was all runes."

"Five points from Gryffindor, Potter," said Snape. He turned to Malfoy and raised his eyebrows.

"My father said he was going to send us a surprise, sir, so we stayed in the dormitory all afternoon, Goyle and I, playing cards," he began. "Pansy was washing her hair. We heard some people below in the common room, but people are always there. It was only when Pansy came in complaining of the paint smell that we went down – and there were those damn Weasley twins, laughing and slinging paint!" he complained. "Then there was an enormous crash, and the plaster started coming right off the walls! The twins looked up and when they saw us, they ran for it, right out the wall. They led us right into You-Know-Who, Professor! And Goyle ran ahead – I was reaching for my wand, sir – and... and..." He broke off, swallowing hard. Snape's gaze never wavered.

Draco clutched the sheet under his chin, sitting entirely still save for his hands, which trembled. Tears poured down his face. "Greg – he ran out ahead of me – and he died, and... and I'm alive. Why did he have to die?"

"I'll tell you why," said Snape, anger rising in his voice. "Or rather _you'll_ tell _me_. You and I were here six months ago, weren't we? And you told me what you remembered of the attack on Dumbledore."

"Y..yes, sir," stammered Malfoy, clutching the sheet even tighter.

"And you told me all of it?"

"Well, yes, of course," answered Malfoy warily.

"You did not, you lying little worm!" Snape thundered. "Precisely how stupid do you think Hogwarts headmasters are? I know exactly what you left out of that story. And you didn't fool Dumbledore either."

Draco cowered, his mouth working silently.

"Enough whinging, Malfoy!" commanded Snape. "Now, you are going to tell me the whole truth about Dumbledore's office. Begin!"

"He was talking to me," whimpered Draco, "Dumbledore was, I mean, and I was looking at the files and notes on his desk. All about some deaths." He paused. "He had them all spread out, the papers I mean, I couldn't help seeing."

"Go on," Snape put in icily.

"Squibs, M-mudblood children, and some girl who flunked out of school. They seemed to have died in their sleep but it was really You-Know-Who."

Harry plunged in. "Sir – about Voldemort's spell on me in the corridor – it felt exactly like sleep."

"Silence, Potter!" barked Snape. "Malfoy, you have not finished. Anything… _interesting_ about those people, would you say?" His eyes narrowed.

Draco glanced around as if looking for an escape. He hung his head. "I... I didn't want to be... to end up... like them," he confessed. "With weak magic – I mean, they were nearly as bad as Muggles, weren't they? And the Headmaster said the potion would enhance his powers.."

"I don't think so," drawled Snape. "I asked you to tell me exactly what happened. So… what _exactly_ did he say to you?"

Draco seemed to grow smaller. Hesitantly, he began again. "He said… he said, 'I see you've noticed my potion. When you're… as old as I am you'll find…your aging powers could use a boost now and then'. So…"

Snape looked down his long nose. "That's better. And then?"

"Then… I drank some of it when his back was turned," Malfoy finished in a rush, looking pleadingly up at Snape.

"Ahh, so you drank some of Dumbledore's potion," breathed Snape with a twisted smile. His voice turned menacing. "And what, exactly, is the first rule of potion making?"

It was clearly the first time Snape's sarcasm and temper had been brought to bear on Malfoy. He froze in panic. Snape loomed above him, waiting. "Never..." Malfoy whispered, "take a potion..." His voice faded and more tears spilled out of his pale eyes.

Snape drew a deep breath. "Unless it is prepared for you and you know exactly what is in it!" he roared. "Malfoy, in four years of Potions you have learnt nothing. Nothing! Do you think the science of Potions is some silly game like Quidditch? That you can buy magical skills with a few broomsticks, and blame your mediocrity on muggle-borns and hippogriffs? Your idiocy could have destroyed the school! He brought his fist crashing down on Malfoy's table, making both boys flinch.

There was a clamour of voices outside the Infirmary door. Snape stepped back.

"I don't need anyone's authority to enter, my good woman, I _am_ authority," trumpeted a voice that Harry recognised. The door flew open and Fudge swept in. Over his shoulder, Harry glimpsed the thin pointed face of Lucius Malfoy and behind him an outraged Madam Pomfrey. Harry's scar began to throb faintly.

"Snape!" cried Fudge, coming to a halt in the middle of the floor. "What on earth have you been playing at? You-Know-Who here? And you knew he was expected?" He caught sight of Harry propped up on his pillows. "Thank goodness you're all right, Potter, marvelous to see you again!" He bustled over and shook Harry's hand as if they were at a formal reception, before swinging back to Snape who had drawn himself up like an outraged vulture ruffling its feathers.

"Two pupils dead! I shall want a full account from everyone. Were you actually intending to inform me? If I had not heard from Mr Malfoy last night..."

"I felt it was my duty as a governor to inform the Minister of what I knew immediately, Severus," said Lucius Malfoy with a thin smile.

"Knew? How? You weren't here and no one contacted you," said Snape pointedly.

"Exactly!" roared Fudge. "I have to tell you, Snape, this looks bad, very bad indeed for you. Knowing that...You-Know-Who was coming...and it's not as if it's the first question mark over your actions..."

"No, indeed," added Lucius Malfoy.

"And don't snap at Mr Malfoy," went on Fudge, "he has every right, a personal right to be angry with you!"

"What?" asked Lucius. "Oh – Draco, yes."

He walked over to his son's bed. Malfoy, who had been watching him anxiously, reached for his father's hand and tried to pull him close.

"Father," he began, but Lucius ignored him and swept back the hair from his son's forehead. Then he looked from him to Harry for a few moments, as if making comparisons. Finally he turned away toward where Snape and Fudge were still arguing, with a thoughtful smile on his face. "Later!" was all he said to his son, holding up a warning hand. Harry saw that Malfoy winced and clutched his head as his father left him; his own scar was thumping as well.

"We went through all of this when Dumbledore died!" Snape was hissing to Fudge. "Why another inquest now?"

"I took Mr Malfoy's word that you were trustworthy," retorted Fudge. "Now he's changed it! And after all this business..."

"I felt an inquest would be a useful exercise, get everything out into the open, stop idiotic rumours flying around," said Lucius. "Of course, I hate to think that my over-trusting nature could have been the cause of trouble coming to the school."

"I want your full report now, Snape," said Fudge heading for the door. "I'll be back to talk to you if I need to, Harry. Mr Malfoy, well done lad, it seems you may be in line for an order of Merlin decoration."

But Malfoy had already pulled his sheets over his head and was lying very still.

What is happening? thought Harry. Who am I supposed to trust?

* * *

 **Enjoy, and please review. – Pogonia**


	37. Return of the Dark Lord, part 4

The afternoon turned into evening and long shadows slipped across the Infirmary walls. Harry lay very still; there was nothing to do but go over the events of the past few days again and again. Malfoy was still in the bed next to him but he had stayed huddled under his sheets since his father's visit.

Had Snape left him locked in his office for Voldemort to find? But then, why had he driven the Dementors away? Acting quickly to protect himself, since the attack had gone wrong? And why did Draco have a scar identical to Harry's now?

Just before dinner, the door opened and Cho Chang slipped in.

"I came to say 'sorry' for what happened to you," she told him awkwardly. "How're you doing?"

"I've been better," said Harry with a grin.

"Blaise said to say he hoped you'd be O.K." Cho added. "You know, it's terrible; what with this all happening right outside the Slytherin Common Room and all, and Goyle dying – it's put him right off his Quidditch."

There was nothing much to say to that, so Harry just nodded. The silence grew uncomfortably between them and Harry saw that Cho looked as relieved as he felt when Pomfrey came in with two trays and shooed her away.

"Chicken and chips," she told him kindly. "Try to eat, it will do you good." Harry looked at it. It was usually one of his favorites, but today he had no appetite. He managed to force down most of the plateful, noticing that Malfoy left his untouched on the bedside table. As he set the tray aside, Hermione appeared. There was a set of clean clothes over her arm and she was carrying Harry's wand.

"Hecate's told me most of what went on," she said. "I can't believe he almost got you again!"

Harry shrugged. "Just my mission in life." He grasped the wand eagerly. "Am I glad to have this back! All that fuss about the feather and I never got a chance to use it."

"It'll come in useful one day," Hermione told him. "Do you feel up to going somewhere? Only, Mr and Mrs Weasley are here and I think they'd like to talk to you – about George, you know."

Harry swung himself out of bed in an instant and held out his hand for the robes. He quickly changed into them while Hermione pulled the curtains. As he put on his sneakers, he found the scrap of paper with the potion recipe and tucked it into his pocket.

"Is it just Mr and Mrs Weasley?" he asked. "What about Goyle's parents?"

"They've been and gone already, apparently. They didn't want to see you."

They set off via Hecate's office; she had told Hermione that she might well want to see the Weasleys to pay her respects. As they walked, Harry told Hermione everything that he had heard in the Infirmary.

"Malfoy's got your scar!" gasped Hermione.

"And his dad is really trying to drop Snape in it," said Harry. "What do you think? Was he making me a sitting target for Voldemort? My wand wouldn't work in his office."

"Oh, Harry, he's the Headmaster," she replied.

" _Hermione!_ " said Harry but there was a lump in his throat. The fact of people being their usual annoying selves was suddenly very precious.

"Have you seen Ron much?" he asked.

"He's been with his family most of the time. He just looks – lost."

"And Crabbe – how is he taking it?"

"OK, considering. You know, we had a long talk last night and decided to just be friends from now on."

"What about the love potion, then?" asked Harry.

Hermione stared far down the corridor, her cheeks going slightly pink. "After we finished talking, I finally got up the nerve to look up how long they last. A month at the outside." She glanced sideways at Harry, as if looking for his reaction. Now why should that be important? asked a small voice in the back of his mind. Ah, yes, of course, that's it.

"He really did like you, then," he replied.

Hermione beamed. "All the sweet things he said, the flowers he sent, they were nothing to do with the potion. He thought I was special. Imagine that. Me."

She certainly is, said the small voice. Aren't you going to tell her so? Don't wait for another chance. No one ever knows how many more chances they will have for anything.

Harry took a deep breath. "Well, you are special. Ron and I both think so." Suddenly it was easier, and the words poured out of him. "It's nothing to do with being clever, it's just you. Friends like you don't come along every day. So…so I'm glad you're my friend. And I don't need a potion to know it." Now it was Harry's turn to blush. Fortunately Hermione didn't seem to notice; she was still staring off down the hall.

Turning the corner, Hermione broke the silence. "Speaking of potions, we still don't know about Dumbledore's," she mused.

"I copied it out from Snape's book when I was locked in his office," said Harry, suddenly remembering the scrap of paper. He handed it to her. Hermione bent over it with a frown.

"Oh, I see, it was a Hindi _A,_ " she exclaimed. "And I missed out a whole sentence the first time. Give me a minute…Here we go, it should be –" She began to read, haltingly.

' _This is the secret potion of the ancients that will protect you from your enemy and destroy him when he attacks you. The usual price is exacted – a life – but not your own. Find some poor fool whom you can trick to drink this potion before you do, and keep him close to you against the day when your enemy attacks. Let your enemy slay him, or kill him yourself when you are sure your enemy is near. His death will save and strengthen you. Urchin, slave, convict, courtesan, or halfwit, any life will do. Those skilled in the potioner's art do prescribe a fool, for who but an idiot would die so, to protect the one who kills him? Now this be a potion where the skill…_ '"

She broke off. "The rest we know." She turned a horrified gaze on Harry. "He gave _this_ to Dumbledore?"

"There's been too much death, Hermione," said Harry as they reached Hecate's office.

They knocked, and then realized the angry voice they were hearing had come from inside. "Enter!" barked a deep, accented voice from behind the door.

"Hesperos, really!" Hecate's voice replied. Harry and Hermione hesitated, exchanging alarmed glances.

"I said, enter! Enter!" The door burst open and Sinistra swept them into the office with a broad, impatient gesture. In one hand he brandished a sheet of gold parchment bordered in green and purple; a large purple envelope with the Ministry seal lay on Takushiki's desk. Snape stood like a menacing black eagle at the other end of the room. His eyes narrowed when he saw them, and he glared at Sinistra.

"Apart from your unfortunate habit of jumping to conclusions, Professor, this is no matter for students," he hissed.

"Is it not?" retorted Sinistra. "When she is their teacher?" He shook the letter in Snape's face, his eyes blazing under his bushy eyebrows. "This is unconscionable! And in these dark times! Do you not know how difficult it is to find a qualified teacher of Defense? You drove out Remus Lupin; this year we are so fortunate to find Hecate and now she must leave us too?"

"Your opinion has been noted. I repeat, this is a staff matter," Snape replied coldly.

"A staff matter, you say? I tell you, it is a plain injustice!" Sinistra shouted back at him, his hands rising passionately into the air. "There is nobody – nobody who can teach like our Hecate – no one so perceptive, so devoted –"

"Silence!" roared Snape.

"For shame, sir!" Sinistra roared back. "Can you disguise vendetta from me? I know it when I smell it and this reeks of vendetta – it reeks to heaven. Say what you like, I shall not keep silent!" He flung the letter onto the tabletop and stalked out, muttering to himself in Italian.

Hecate rose from her chair and took a step toward Snape, her eyes flashing. "For heaven's sake, did you have to bark at him? And let him go on like that? Couldn't you have let him know it was nothing to do with you? As if everyone wasn't upset enough already!"

Hermione pulled at Harry's sleeve and both of them sidled toward the door. "Erm, we'll wait outside, miss."

"No, just go on, I've seen the Weasleys and I'll catch you up later," said Hecate, still glaring at Snape. The two pupils backed into the hallway and shut the door. Inside they could still hear the argument. Hecate spoke again, her usual patience yielding to frustration.

"Sorry, Headmaster. But since I suppose I'm leaving, I might as well just say it – you can't treat your faculty like that and expect to keep them. You have to work with them. And you can do it, I know you can. We worked together this year, you and I, and I'm proud of what we did. Now if you'd only trust the rest of your colleagues..."

"Meaning?" said Snape dangerously.

"Professor McGonagall for one. You let me understand that she knew everything that Professor Sinistra and I knew. Now I find that you didn't even tell her that we knew the date of Voldemort's attack. Sinistra confirmed over a month ago that the conjunction of Gemini and the crescent moon agreed with the Centaur's prophecy of the Twins and the Sickle, it was perfectly clear. I know you hate the fact that she remembers you from your schooldays – "

Snape snorted.

"– and you think she resents you being Headmaster, so you try to put her down," continued Hecate. "Well, just because you'd hate it if she were head teacher, don't assume that she's so – _adolescent –_ about the whole thing. She's your senior colleague. You should have confided in her fully. She would have supported you."

There was silence.

"And your staff aren't the only ones who can help you, you know. There's a big world outside of Hogwarts. The Ministry – not Fudge, of course, but he has some very good department heads. Then there's Jigger at the Potions Institute..."

"Jigger! After…"

"Yes, 'after'," said Hecate crossly. "Dumbledore specifically told you to write to him, to extend a hand to him, but have you done it? And you have the portraits in your office, and the Sorting Hat… yes, yes, I know it's got an attitude. Do you think it didn't twit Dumbledore too? He still consulted it all the time, and I think he gave as good as he got." Suddenly she chuckled. "You know, if anyone could dress it down properly, it would be you."

"Are you quite finished?" asked Snape, a peculiar roughness in his voice.

"Not yet," said Hecate, a bit more calmly now. "What about Harry? Didn't we agree that it would be best simply to tell him that the attack was expected and that he was safe in your office? Of course he tried to escape, who wouldn't have? Once he got out, he was right where Voldemort wanted him."

"If you think Potter would have obeyed my orders..." began Snape.

"Orders again!" exclaimed Hecate. "You're supposed to be a Headmaster, not some kind of petty dictator. For heaven's sake, act like one. He would have listened to me, and to you, too, if you'd bothered explaining things instead of ordering him around. And finally, we should have stayed closer to the office waiting for Voldemort. By the time we got there he'd already chased Harry downstairs. We might have been able to save those kids. And poor old Filch almost died too, when that Pettigrew character found him."

"Well, he seems to have got over it, the way he's boasting about the experience," grumbled Snape. "Anyway, we needed Voldemort's attention to be fully on Potter before we attacked."

"Harry's a human being, Headmaster. He isn't just a flobberworm to stick on the end of a fishing line so you can go trawling for Dark wizards," retorted Hecate. She was silent for a moment. "All right. Now, do you want me to make the announcement about my leaving? No? Well, try to put a good face on it, then. For the school's sake. No one wants any more bad news."

Hermione knocked on the door to the small chamber beside the Great Hall, then held it open for herself and Harry to enter.

Arthur and Molly Weasley were sitting together on a battered couch, their heads bowed, holding hands. They scarcely looked up when Harry came in. Ginny was crouched down by her mother's knees, her head in her lap. Mrs Weasley's free hand was mechanically stroking her hair. Ron was staring dully into the empty fireplace and of Percy there was no sign. Only Fred was moving, pacing up and down the room with angry gestures and lecturing his indifferent family in a harsh bark.

"Snape killed him as much as Voldemort did. He hated us from the day we came here. I've told you what George – " he paused and swallowed for a moment – "and I heard him saying to the Mirror of Erised. That he's paid Dumbledore back by making that potion. And Harry's father. It was poison!"

He rushed over to Harry and grasped his arms painfully tight, his face desperate. "You tell them, Harry. Snape's Dark, isn't he? He called Voldemort here. He killed my brother."

"Let the boy be, Fred," said Mr Weasley gently. He held out a hand to Harry.

"I'm so sorry, Mr Weasley," said Harry, going over to him and taking his hand. Arthur Weasley squeezed it, hard.

"I just wish they would let us take him home," whispered Mrs Weasley next to him. "Safe and home. But they keep talking about inquests, and Fred keeps saying... and Charlie and Bill aren't here..." She began to cry.

"There, there, Molly, Percy's sorting all that out, remember?" her husband told her. "I don't know what we'd have done without him these last two days," he added.

Ron appeared by Harry's side. "Tell us what happened, Harry, " he said. If it had not been for his voice, Harry would not have recognised his friend, so pinched and white was Ron's face.

"Yes, tell us," added Fred.

Harry glanced nervously at Mrs Weasley. "No, go on, say it, dear," she whispered. "If I don't know the truth, I'll only imagine."

Harry recounted the whole story, from his entry into the potions dungeon, to Snape's interrogation of Draco and his anger at learning that Draco had swallowed some of the potion meant for Dumbledore.

"Thought he'd poisoned his pet pupil by mistake, did he?" spat Fred.

"It hasn't hurt Malfoy at all, though," said Harry.

"Was Draco Malfoy not hurt in the attack, then?" asked Mr Weasley, suddenly sitting up straight.

"Not much – the only thing is that he's got a scar like mine, now – here, on his forehead," Harry answered.

"Harry – this is important – tell me exactly what happened just before Voldemort made that ball of fire – where everyone was – no, Molly, it _is_ important. Fred can't remember much."

Harry searched his memory. "I was lying on the floor just outside the Slytherin common room. The door opened and they all rushed out –"

"Who came out first?" pressed Mr Weasley.

"Goyle and...and George," answered Harry. "They were first. They tripped and fell right on top of me. Then Draco. Then Fred and I suppose Pansy behind him."

"Arthur, what does it matter?" sobbed Mrs Weasley.

"Is that door tight shut, Hermione?" said Mr Weasley. Hermione closed it firmly and nodded. Arthur Weasley beckoned for all in the room to come closer to him.

"Fred – my boy – " he said to his son, putting a hand on his shoulder. "It was Lord Voldemort who killed your brother. That potion – the one Professor Snape made, the one that Dumbledore and Draco Malfoy drank – it was a protection potion, not a poison. That's why the people who were in front of Draco died – and you and Pansy, and Harry, who were behind him, lived. That potion saved your life."

"Then why didn't it protect Dumbledore?" asked Fred. "And how could a potion someone else took save me?"

"Was it the...?" began Hermione.

Mr Weasley held up his hand. "No more," he said quietly. "That potion has a dark, terrible history; for many years it was thought to be lost and unmakeable. The less you know about it, the better."

"But people can make it now?" asked Hermione.

"One person, according to rumour at the Ministry," Mr Weasley told her. "That's all. And we'd best not discuss it any further. Thank you, Harry; I haven't asked how you are, have I?"

"It doesn't matter," Harry told him, but Mr Weasley had already turned away and had wrapped his arms around his wife, to rock her gently to and fro.

"We'd better go," said Hermione.

"Ron," said Harry to his friend, "I..." He couldn't go on. Looking down, he grasped Ron's hands and held them tightly in both of his.

Finally Ron swallowed, an d nodded. "We're all going home tonight. Could you pack my stuff?" He paused. "I think it's the worst for Fred out of all of us."

Harry looked over at the surviving Weasley twin. How many times over the years would Fred look at his own aging face in a mirror and think of the unchanging one of his dead twin? How many times would an old acquaintance who hadn't heard the news walk up to him and ask if he were George?

"Harry, that was the Doomspell potion Mr Weasley was talking about, wasn't it?" said Hermione as they made their way back to the Infirmary. "It fits with the instructions, especially now that we can read the first part. Dumbledore took it – he must have wanted you to drink it as well, to protect you now that Voldemort was back. But Voldemort attacked too early, and Malfoy got the protection instead."

"You mean that Voldemort's spell rebounded off Malfoy because...?"

"Dumbledore died after he took the first draught," finished Hermione. "That was the forfeit the potions instructions meant. The first drinker dies – but the second is protected by the death. When he's attacked, the spell will fall back on the attacker."

"Dumbledore was willing to die for me," said Harry slowly. They walked on in silence for a few paces. Then Harry said, "Malfoy's got a scar like mine, now."

"You said so, and I saw it in the infirmary," said Hermione. "You got that scar from Voldemort too."

"I told you in Godric's Hollow – I remembered when I was a baby and my father was feeding me something that tasted awful." Harry went on. "More of it came back when the Dementors were standing over me. My mother was there. She was angry and worried, she was asking my Dad if he'd given me something, if he'd taken it himself. I'm sure she mentioned Snape. "

"Suppose Snape made that potion before?" said Hermione. "Didn't Dumbledore say he'd seen it in the past when Snape brought him that goblet?"

"I've been thinking the same thing, but it's just... I don't know, how could it be true?" said Harry, stopping to face her. "That my father took that potion, a potion Snape made? When he knew how much Snape hated him? And that he gave it to me, and then died? And that's why I lived?"

"It may well be," answered Hermione, moving mechanically down the corridor, a faraway look in her eyes. "But if that's so, why did your mother try to protect you? She didn't have to die, did she? All she had to do was stand back and let Voldemort curse you. Then the spell would have rebounded, Voldemort would have been destroyed and she'd still be alive as well as you."

"She wasn't quite sure that my father had given it to me, I think," said Harry slowly. Then he thought of Mrs Weasley and her blank-eyed grief. "Anyway, I don't think that she could have gone through with it – stood there and let him attack me, I mean. She had to protect me, she couldn't stop herself. And so he – he killed her."

Through the swirl of thoughts in his head, Harry heard an echo of Hecate's voice. "Dumbledore said your father trusted Snape." So it had been true after all.

"It's a Dark Arts potion, Mr Weasley said," Hermione was telling him. "Suppose that's what Snape was doing in that year that's missing from his records – rediscovering that potion? Then something happened to turn him away from the Dark side. He came back from the Dark and Dumbledore took him in at Hogwarts."

Harry did not reply. The idea that Snape could have had something to do with his survival fourteen years ago was too new and jarring. What had it cost Snape to keep quiet about it for all those years, when everyone around him was cheering Harry Potter's victory over Voldemort? What would it cost Harry himself to know it?


	38. Partings, part 1

Chapter 11: Partings

Harry did not see Draco Malfoy again that evening. Wherever his father had dragged him off to, it was not the Infirmary. His bed there was neatly made and his clothes gone. Harry spent a restless night staring at the ceiling of the Infirmary, and in the morning was unable to persuade Pomfrey that he was fit enough to make it back to Gryffindor on his own. When Filch stopped by to bring her a package of herbs, she asked him to escort Harry across the school, but the look he gave Harry was so black that he told both of them he'd wait. Instead, she scribbled a note to take to the Slytherin dormitory and pushed Filch out the door despite his protestations that the Malfoys had probably left.

"What was that all about?" Harry asked her.

"Forgot his medicine," she explained. "There's some for you too. Four ounces in the morning, four ounces at bedtime. When the liquid's gone, you eat..." She set a large jar of pale yellow liquid on his bedside. Ragged orange blobs drifted slowly across a cloud of brown dust at the bottom. Harry stared at it, revolted; it looked for all the world like a specimen from Snape's dungeon. Pomfrey cleared her throat. "Relax, Potter. They're only pickled peaches." A taste proved her right, and as he finished his first dose, Hermione and Hecate appeared at the door with a bag for his things.

They rounded the corner of the Infirmary corridor and came face to face with Draco Malfoy, standing a few paces ahead. The fresh wound stood out ugly and dark against his pale skin, and for a moment Harry saw how his own scar must catch the eye, faded though it was. Draco was not alone; his father stood facing him. They were arguing furiously and neither one noticed Harry and Hermione approach. In the corridor beyond them, a tall, black-robed figure emerged noiselessly from the staircase.

"Don't you even care that I almost got killed? Again?" cried Draco, his voice strident.

"Of course I care!" hissed Lucius. "I wanted to keep you safe at the school. The attack was supposed to be at Hogsmeade."

Draco's pale face went even paler. "What do you mean by that? D'you mean you knew about it, and you let it happen?"

"Shh, shh, there was a good reason for it," protested Lucius, trying to cover his panic with a soothing manner. He reached forward as if to pat his son's shoulder, but Draco twisted away abruptly.

"Do you know how many people could have been killed? How many of my _friends_ were there? Merlin's beard…" Draco's voice quavered as he listed off the names softly. "Zabini... Warrington... Millicent... Vince..." Suddenly he was shouting again. "You don't even care that they could all be dead by now, and for what? To get rid of one conceited little scar-faced git? Don't do me any more favors... Father." He spat the last word, then turned away, stopping short as he saw Snape behind him.

Snape's deep black eyes bored into Lucius. "How _did_ you know when and where the attack was supposed to be?" he asked softly.

"I might ask you the same thing," retorted Lucius. "Anyone could tell that office of yours was rigged to be magic-proof and you locked Potter in there." He grabbed Draco and swept back his hair. The lightning shaped wound stood out red and black against Draco's pallor. "Just look at his head," he hissed. "It was that potion, wasn't it? That's why he's not dead. That's what drove the Dark Lord away."

The corners of Snape's mouth turned up. "Effective, wasn't it? Don't feel you have to thank me." He stepped aside to walk past, but Lucius grabbed his arm and spun him around, putting his own pale white face close to Snape's sallow one.

"You deceived me, Severus, and no one gets away with that. You won't last long as Headmaster of Hogwarts once your staff knows about your little walk on the Dark side, and your year in the loony bin. And once you're sacked as Headmaster, no one will question you killing yourself."

Snape's hand fastened upon Lucius's wrist and began to twist it down and away. "I'll take my chances, Mr. Malfoy."

"Stop it, Father, didn't you hear him? If I hadn't taken that potion I'd be dead."

"If you hadn't taken that potion, you stupid brat, my lord's powers might have been restored!" He shot Draco a furious look and the boy recoiled, clapping his hand to his head. Still clinging to Snape's sleeve, he thrust his face forward again. "Now, Mr Potions Master, I shall want a copy of that potion recipe before I leave today, or your career is in ruins."

Hermione could contain herself no longer. "Everyone knows he was on the Dark once," she shouted, her voice ringing down the corridor. "He even said so in class."

"Stay out of this, you little Mudblood. No one's going to believe you."

"Oh, yes they will," said Hecate, evenly, coming up behind her. "He said it in my class. The whole school knows it, staff and all. And if you want to make an issue of it, Mr Malfoy, there's a lot Dumbledore knows about you that he can still tell."

"Not if you're in Chechnya, he can't," retorted Lucius. A nasty smile played over his lips. "No, I think that before Minister Fudge makes up his mind about this, he'll want to hear from someone else, someone who seems to matter a great deal to him." His back turned to Snape and Draco, he walked purposefully down the hall toward Harry, whose scar started to itch.

"What do _you_ say, Harry?" asked Lucius, narrowing his eyes. His manner was confidential, yet he spoke loudly enough for all of them to hear. "Do you like having your father's oldest, most bitter enemy as your headmaster? Do you like his teaching? The way he treats you – or your friends Weasley and Longbottom? Haven't you ever imagined him rotting away in Azkaban?" The tone of his voice, mingling threat with a false heartiness, made Harry's stomach tighten.

"Don't you think McGonagall would make a much better Head?" continued Lucius. "After what she's had to put up with, doesn't she deserve the job, Potter?" Harry wrenched his eyes away from Lucius and looked down the hall. Snape stared back past Draco's trembling form, but he couldn't tell if the Headmaster was looking at him, at Hecate or at Lucius.

Lucius pressed on. "And your Defense mistress here – wouldn't she be happier in a Hogwarts classroom than dodging machine gun fire in Chechnya?" Beside Harry, Hermione gasped, and Hecate put a protective arm around her.

"You've had your doubts about old Snape, haven't you?" continued Lucius. "Especially when you were locked in his office, powerless, alone with the Dark Lord. Surely you've told your suspicions to your friends already – ah, yes, I can see that you have, many times. All you have to do is speak out about him one more time. One more time, and you've beaten him forever, and helped your friends in the bargain."

"I don't have to beat him," Harry said mulishly. He stared again at Snape, wondering what thoughts lay behind those deep-set eyes, that greasy forehead. What had been the expression on Snape's face when he had bent over a cauldron all those years ago to make the Doomspell potion for James? He had been reluctant to brew it for Dumbledore himself. But for a man he had hated from his schooldays, knowing that it would bring about his death? Harry caught his breath. The thought was a block of ice in his stomach. _There's no getting round it, he thought, Snape helped to kill my father. And now I have a chance to beat him. For my father's sake. He hated Snape to the last, and now, for his sake, I can beat him. Wouldn't my father have done it himself? Isn't that what he would have wanted? And wouldn't he have wanted me to protect Takushiki?_

Lucius gave him a push in the chest. "Stupid boy! Wake up! How much longer do you want Severus Snape breathing down your neck? Think what he did to your father, and to you. Think what your life would be like without him! Think!"

Harry stood unmoving, staring at a crack in the floor, tight prickles rising in back of his eyes. The silence of six people pressed on him; he could look none of them in the face. Behind them he felt the deeper silence of his parents' deaths, one body and then another collapsing through the shadowy after-images of the green flashes. They had died as Dumbledore had died, defending what they loved, regretting nothing, refusing to compromise. _My life without Snape? Much better, in a way,_ thought Harry. _But even better for Lucius Malfoy, and the Dark Side. What a choice. Still, it looks like I'm stuck with Snape for a while. My father's example. And Dumbledore's orders._

He looked directly into Lucius Malfoy's pale eyes. Aloud he said, "Go to hell. I don't know what you mean."

"You'll regret this," pronounced Lucius. He turned away towards Snape with a look of pure hatred. "So will you, Headmaster."

He seized his son's arm and dragged him past Snape into the stairwell. Draco stumbled along beside him, his other hand clamped to his head. As they disappeared around the corner, Harry looked up at Snape. Their eyes locked. Snape stared back, unfathomable. It seemed a long time later that Hermione touched his arm and said, "Come on, Harry, we'd better go."

Hecate took his other arm and gave it a gentle tug. "She's right, Harry, go with her." As they passed Snape, Hecate spoke again. "Harry? I need to talk with you, but not right now. In my office, after lunch?" He nodded blankly and followed Hermione down the hallway.

At the common room, Harry pushed past the babble of questions and expressions of sympathy, and fled upstairs to the dormitory to start packing. The other Gryffindor boys, understanding his silence, did not bother him. He kept working through lunch, stacking books and vests and trying to think of what to say to Hecate, and when his roommates returned, he headed down the stairs to keep his appointment with her. He thought he had prepared his words carefully, but as soon as she ushered him into her office, it all flew out; Dumbledore and the Doomspell potion; the office raid, Snape and Lucius Malfoy in Knockturn Alley and even his trip to the Potions Institute with Ron and Hermione... Finally Hecate put up her hand.

"You deserve an explanation," she said. "I found out almost as soon as I came to Hogwarts that Dumbledore was gravely concerned at Voldemort's growing strength. He already suspected that it was linked with the mysterious deaths of Squibs that were being reported to the Ministry and he was already thinking of challenging Voldemort to a duel, just as he had fought Grindelwald all those years before. As a fallback he wanted Professor Snape to make the Doomspell potion, for you and he to drink. That would mean that even if Dumbledore was killed, you would be protected by the death should Voldemort attack you."

"I had to tell him that he had far less time to carry out his plans than he thought. One of his oldest friends, Nicolas Flamel, warned him of that the first time I translated for him. So Dumbledore decided to take the potion, have you drink it too and then lure Voldemort into a duel far away from Hogwarts. This was a plan that several of his colleagues did not approve of, I might say."

"Snape told Lucius Malfoy what Dumbledore was planning," interrupted Harry.

"Of course he did," nodded Hecate. "In order to fight a duel, you have to issue a challenge. That was what Professor Snape was doing on Dumbledore's behalf when Hagrid spotted him in Knockturn Alley. Of course, Mr Malfoy didn't see it quite like that. He got the impression – as he was meant to – that Professor Snape was nostalgic for his time in the Dark."

"And was he?" asked Harry.

"Whatever Professor Snape said to Mr Malfoy, it was on Dumbledore's orders, Harry. Try to see it from Dumbledore's viewpoint: Snape was the obvious person to send; someone who could convincingly pretend to be ready to return to the Dark. But pretend is what it was; convincing too, as you saw. Mr Malfoy can see now how completely he was fooled and that galls him as much as anything. Anyway, when Voldemort heard of it, he decided on an immediate attack while Dumbledore was still at Hogwarts. You know what happened then.

"Afterwards, Professor Snape was left to try and solve the mystery of what was behind the Squibs' deaths. He took me into his confidence – at least, as far as he can take anyone into his confidence – and again you know what the answer was, because you and your friends worked it out too. We also knew that Voldemort was likely to attack you again. The centaur's prophecy tipped us off – "

"The twins and the sickle!" interrupted Harry, "and Snape tried to – "

Hecate turned and pulled a long scroll of parchment from a shelf behind her desk. "Look at this," she said, unfurling it. Harry saw that it was chart much like Lavender and Parvati's, covered with stars, moons and arrows, and decorated with comments in Professor Sinistra's flamboyant purple scrawl.

"The twins," pointed Hecate. Harry peered closer and recognised a constellation labelled 'Gemini'.

"And the sickle," she continued. Her finger was resting on a crescent next to the twins and with his mind's eye, Harry saw again the dark night sky outside the Infirmary window on the night of Voldemort's attack, and the thin moon floating through the clouds.

"That was how we knew he was expected," said Hecate.

"So when the Headmaster told Hagrid to make the Weasleys cut down that grass – "

"He was trying to extend their detention," grinned Hecate, "not to mention needling Hagrid. You don't think that a little thing like the world's darkest wizard attacking at any moment would distract him from doing that, do you, Harry?"

"But the enchantments in the office…"

"You would have been safe there, even with that hole in the wall. We didn't know about that of course. I had protected everything with enchantments. We even fixed the weather so that all the younger students would be outside at Creatures and Herbology exams that afternoon. It would still have been safer, I think, if the Headmaster had explained to you why you were there. Voldemort quickly realised that you were not in Hogsmeade and appeared at the school. The one thing we didn't realise was that Draco Malfoy had drunk the potion. You know what took place then. We were ready to hit Voldemort with curses but it never came to that."

There was one more thing. "Snape must have made that same potion for my father...why do you think he did it?"

"Because Dumbledore asked him to, I imagine."

"The book it's in – it says that only fools will drink it first and die – and he must have known my father would take it first – "

Hecate sighed. "I've read the recipe, or rather, Professor Snape's transcription of it. You have to understand; the wizard who created that potion all those centuries ago was on the Dark. He never imagined that there could be people unselfish enough to die willingly for another. He thought it could only be used as a trick. But neither of the people who drank it for you were fools, were they?"

Harry shook his head.

"That's something about dark people – even those who return from the Dark. They always assume the worst possible motive. No one will ever do an unselfish act. You're an idiot to trust people. There's no such thing as good-natured teasing, even, it's always malicious." She sighed again. "They can be a real pain in the neck."

"So you don't think Snape wanted to make that potion for my father?" asked Harry.

"I can't be a very good teacher, Harry," answered Hecate. "Remember what I told you in class? To people who return from the Dark, any memory or contact with it is painful. Like your scar. It's almost unbearable in the early days. No, Professor Snape would not have enjoyed making that potion for your father in any way."

Then I'm glad it made him suffer, thought Harry to himself. He was not ready to believe that Snape's motives had been entirely unselfish there.

"Still not convinced?" said Hecate. Harry guessed that she could tell by the expression on his face.

Harry shrugged. "How will he treat me now do you think?" he asked. "Back to 'Ten points from Gryffindor, Potter' every time I cough?"

"I couldn't say," said Hecate. "And believe me, I know how bad he can be. But remember, hate is destructive. Lucius Malfoy knows that; that's exactly what he was trying to play on when he asked you to speak against Professor Snape to the Ministry. I was proud of you when you wouldn't agree to do that. Hate will drag you into the Dark as quickly as anything will. I'm not asking you to like Professor Snape, but you should remember that you're both on the same side – even if he forgets it from time to time. And by the way, I've spoken to Mr Fudge myself; he is not pursuing the investigation into Professor Snape."

"And what about Voldemort?" asked Harry. "Has he been destroyed again?"

"Not from the account you gave. It seems that he is still embodied, if weakened. And he has his own, primitive, dementors now. And Pettigrew."

"Does Snape know it was Pettigrew and not Sirius Black, then?" asked Harry. "He didn't see Pettigrew in the hallway when Voldemort attacked."

"Dumbledore has told him about it via me," answered Hecate. "He has to believe that – the Dead can't lie. I should have told you that earlier."

Harry looked at her, choosing his words carefully. "I almost said OK to Lucius Malfoy when he talked about you and Chechnya. Now the more I think about it the more I worry about what's going to happen to you."

Hecate nodded reassuringly. "I love teaching, but I also love this other work and believe in it; it's worth every bit of risk. And never doubt, if anything should happen to me, it was my own choice to go over there. You tell that to Ron, too."

She picked up the astronomy scroll to put it away. As she did so, a small piece of flowery notepaper fluttered out from underneath it. Hecate smoothed it with her fingers and shook her head slowly. "Sugar Lips, for goodness sake," she said under her breath and her eyes filled with tears.

"I have a token of Dumbledore's," she went on, "should I need to speak to him again and he be available."

"Speaking of tokens..." said Harry. He pulled out a piece of twig and handed it to her. "I took this off the Firebolt this morning. Voldemort's still out there, and he might get me. If anything happens..."

Hecate took it and he felt better for her not trying to tell him that it wouldn't be necessary. "I'll know where to find you," she said.

"Who am I going to talk to now?" asked Harry, suddenly realising that this was really good bye. "First Dumbledore, now you... who will I speak to about the important stuff?"

"You have your friends, and Hagrid, and Sirius," Hecate told him, "and you still have me. An owl will reach me if all else fails." There was silence. "I have to finish packing, before the feast," she told him gently.

"Right," said Harry awkwardly. "I'll see you there."


End file.
